Episode I - Attack of the Clones
by Adam Kalik
Summary: The first episode of my AU prequel trilogy that preserves all the spoilers of the original films (yes, even the big one). If you've read "Vader's Valkyrie," you know what to expect: a much darker plot, and a surprise or two along the way. There will be no Gungans, and no midichlorians...but there will be Mandalorians. Lots and lots of Mandalorians. Get your pizza rolls ready.
1. Chapter 1

I

Throughout the galaxy, it was widely believed that one could not find anything ugly about the planet Alderaan. From its pristine, snow-capped peaks to its vibrant grasslands and spotless, white beaches, every centimeter of its surface radiated beauty. The developed areas of the planet were clean and orderly, designed to flow around the natural topography whenever possible. This thoughtful technique suggested harmony with nature, instead of dominance over it. In every city, the tallest buildings were finished with a soft, eggshell-white color that complemented the sky regardless of the weather. Even the man-made institutions were pleasant and respectable, unlike their corrupt and scandal-ridden counterparts in other star systems. Alderaan's constitutional monarchy had a sterling reputation, and proudly contributed to the planet's reputation as a veritable utopia.

Sadly, no planet inhabited by sentient life could avoid violence forever. Although Alderaanian culture overwhelmingly opposed the idea of war, it was also committed to the Galactic Republic, and was therefore called to aid whenever the Republic came under attack. When the Mandalorians, a people widely perceived as aggressive and merciless, declared war on the Republic, Alderaan mobilized its finest soldiers, and sent them off to fight. Both sides suffered enormous casualties, but in the end, the Republic prevailed. The Mandalorian Alliance was brought to its knees, and Mandalore's leaders were summoned to Alderaan to sign the treaty that would bring a formal end to the war. The beautiful scenery did nothing to relieve the tension as the Mandalorian government signed a document admitting fault for the entire war, and agreeing to pay harsh reparations to the victorious Republic. Twenty years had passed since the Treaty of Aldera was signed, and the Republic had raised a new generation, leaning heavily on the diplomatic and covert skills of the Jedi Knights to keep the peace. But the Mandalorian people had raised a new generation of their own, and their young were brought up to view the galaxy in a different light. In Alderaan's academic circles, historians whispered that it was not a question of if another war would erupt, but when.

The Republic's latest effort to stave off war came in the form of a _Consular_-class space cruiser, which dropped out of hyperspace just beyond the orbit of Alderaan's moon. It was a relatively small ship, measuring 115 meters from bow to stern, with three powerful engines oriented horizontally. Its hull was painted amaranth red, a tradition for diplomatic vessels of the Republic, while some of its more frequently replaced maintenance panels were a plain white color. Because its mission had been so hastily cobbled together, the ship carried only a skeleton crew: a captain and a pilot, chosen not for their merit but for their proximity to their commanding officer when his orders were received.

The cruiser had only two passengers, both human males. They were members of the Jedi Order, and like many of their religion, they had names that sounded strange and eccentric to the less-traveled denizens of the galaxy. The older man, Qui-Gon Jinn, was in his early fifties, with a trimmed beard and long, brown hair which he wore in a topknot. His hair was beginning to show traces of gray, and his face had a few wrinkles in the usual places, but he still had the posture of a younger man. The way he carried himself left no question that in spite of his age, he was still in fighting shape. The younger man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was 35 years old, with a beard almost identical to his counterpart. He had auburn hair, which was combed back over his ears and cut just above shoulder length. Like Qui-Gon, he was fair-skinned, and had light blue eyes, but he did not share the stern, world-weary gaze of the older man.

In accordance with their teachings, both Jedi Knights wore attire that gave them a dignified appearance, without drawing unnecessary attention: bib-front shirts with long sleeves and Mandarin collars, fitted pants, and leather boots that ended below the knee. The only accessories they wore were their lightsabers, which hung from the right side of each man's belt. While there were minor cosmetic differences between the two, both weapons were accented with elegant black trim, and had a chrome-like finish that gleamed when it caught the light.

Fortunately for the Jedi, most of their adversaries knew that a lightsaber blade could cut through almost anything—and they did not know that a trained Jedi Knight would not ignite his blade unless he had no other choice. Because this general ignorance worked in their favor, the Jedi made no effort to correct it. In their view, the public's uneasiness at the sight of a lightsaber was a fair price to pay to achieve victory without fighting. This was precisely what Qui-Gon hoped for as he meditated in his cabin: victory without fighting. He inhaled slowly through his nose, and wondered whether Obi-Wan had the same goal in mind. Although Obi-Wan was mature for his age, he still clung to a fragment of the reckless nature that had defined his youth. As apprentice to the legendary Master Yoda, he had learned to control his excitable personality, but ever since he completed his trials and earned the rank of Jedi Knight, he had gradually begun slipping back into his old ways. Qui-Gon reminded himself to be patient, to continue acting as a mentor as long as Obi-Wan was with him. They had already completed many assignments together, and developed a brotherly bond uncommon to those with so many years between them. Qui-Gon knew that bond allowed him to be direct, and offer counsel that would be ignored if it came from a less familiar source.

As Qui-Gon meditated on the mission ahead, and how to best guide his younger partner through it, he felt a quiet ripple in the Force. The sensation told him what his eyes and ears had yet to perceive: Obi-Wan was drawing near. Qui-Gon gently lifted himself out of his deeply relaxed state in preparation for Obi-Wan's arrival. The presence of the Force receded from his mind like an ebbing tide, slightly more distant than before, but never gone completely. He took one more deep breath, and slowly opened his eyes as his cabin door slid open with a quiet hissing sound. Light from the corridor spilled into the darkened room, obscured only by the silhouette of a winded Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Master Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan announced excitedly, "We've reached the Alderaan system."

Obi-Wan placed his hand against the door frame as he spoke, taking care to make the motion appear casual, but Qui-Gon knew him too well. He knew Obi-Wan just spent the entire hyperspace journey sitting anxiously at the navigator's station, staring at the computer for so long that his short jog down the corridor had caused his heart rate to surge. Without rising from his cross-legged position, Qui-Gon gestured at the control panel next to the door. The Force brushed against the dimmer switch, bringing the lights on gradually. He motioned for his friend to enter, and sit on the cushioned stool across from him. Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped, and he shot Qui-Gon a skeptical look as he realized he was in for a lecture, but he obeyed. Qui-Gon allowed the silence to linger for a moment, knowing it would compel Obi-Wan to focus, and then he spoke.

"Why have we come all this way, Obi-Wan?" he asked softly. Obi-Wan's eyes flickered to one side, then the other, as if he was waiting for an overdue punch line.

"To escort the Royal Family to Coruscant," he replied, his tone suggesting the answer was obvious.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "And why must we escort the Royal Family to Coruscant?" he asked. Obi-Wan almost rolled his eyes, but held back out of respect.

"We've all heard the rumors," he said. "The Mandalorians want another war. It's the most foolish idea I've ever heard, but that didn't stop them last time."

At this, Qui-Gon sighed. "They're not just rumors, Obi-Wan." He saw the inquisitive look on his companion's face, and lowered his voice to impress the seriousness of the matter. "Senator Palpatine spoke to me before we left. The Mandalorians have recalled their ambassadors. Many of their former allies have done the same."

"Then they _are_ fools!" Obi-Wan scoffed.

"The Mandalorians are many things," Qui-Gon warned, "but they are _not_ fools. You didn't fight in the last war—"

"I would have, if Master Yoda had let me!" Obi-Wan interrupted. "I was almost old enough—"

Qui-Gon held up his hand, and Obi-Wan fell silent. "_I_ did," he said, with a mournful look in his eyes. "Believe me, it is not an experience anyone would wish to repeat."

Obi-Wan took a moment to collect himself before he spoke. "Then why do they appear so committed to repeating it?" he asked.

Qui-Gon stood, and smoothed out his clothing with his hands. He motioned for Obi-Wan to follow him, and together, they made their way to the cockpit. The pilot and his captain glanced over their shoulders out of instinct, then immediately returned their instruments. The Jedi Knights looked out of the viewport at their destination. From their perspective, Alderaan was barely larger than a marble, floating against an endless backdrop of black ink and glittering stars. There was no movement to be seen—no pinpoints of light from starship engines, nothing coming or going from the planet. To those accustomed to Alderaan's bustling space traffic, it was a disturbing sight. The looming threat of war had choked off the flow of travel and commerce, leaving Alderaan hopelessly isolated.

"Reach out with the Force, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon urged. "Feel, don't think. Can you sense it?"

Obi-Wan's eyelids fluttered as he concentrated on the planet in front of them, and the space around it. "There's something out there," he said worriedly. "Something we can't see."

Qui-Gon nodded, and the distant look flashed across his face again. "Revenge is a powerful motivator," he warned, "but they would not risk another war unless they feel they have the advantage. We must move quickly."

Obi-Wan nodded receptively. The pilot and captain looked at each other, but said nothing. They knew there was no turning back now. All they could do was get the ship to ground, and hope the Jedi accomplished their mission before it was too late.

Within minutes, the cruiser was descending through Alderaan's pristine atmosphere, making a beeline for the capital city of Aldera. The view from above was breathtaking. The city was built upon an island in the center of a sparkling freshwater lake. The lake was ringed by a circular mountain ridge, formed by an asteroid impact thousands of years earlier. The mountains provided a scenic view from any vantage point in the city, as well as a natural defensive barrier. Beyond the mountains, the landscape alternated between flat plains and rolling hills, all covered with long grass that rippled like a sea in the gentle wind. Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn to the horizon, where he could just barely make out another series of mountains. They had an unusual ovoid shape, like eggs pointed at the sky. Their outlines were far too smooth and symmetrical to have been formed by any natural process he'd ever heard of.

"Killik hives," Qui-Gon said helpfully, noticing Obi-Wan's perplexed stare. "Older than the Republic itself."

"What's in them?" Obi-Wan asked.

"They're empty," Qui-Gon replied. "The Killiks went extinct thousands of years ago. The Royal House has protected the hives as a natural wonder ever since."

Seconds later, the cruiser dropped below the peaks surrounding Aldera, and Obi-Wan's attention was drawn to another of the planet's wonders. Within the confines of the crater, enormous winged creatures drifted lazily through the air. The smaller specimens carried riders on their backs, while the larger ones had full-sized passenger cars secured to their undersides. These magnificent animals were thrantas, held aloft not by the slow movements of their wings, but by the spongy tissue filling their bodies. The tiny air sacs within that tissue were inflated with a buoyant gas, a byproduct from their diet of airborne zooplankton. Obi-Wan's eyes widened when he saw an impossibly large thranta drift over the furthest edge of the mountain range like a great white cloud. As it floated toward the city, it cast a shadow even larger than that of the cruiser—at least two hundred meters from one wingtip to the other. Obi-Wan shook his head in amazement. _What a tragedy it would be_, he thought, _if this beautiful world went to war_.

At last, the cruiser touched down on a landing pad of white duracrete, in the shadow of the Aldera Royal Palace. Tiny jets of inert gas hissed as the ship's boarding ramp lowered. Once the foot of the ramp hit solid ground, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon disembarked. Theirs was the only ship on the landing pad, and there was only one figure waiting to greet them: a protocol droid with a humanoid form and brass-colored body panels. The Jedi squinted their eyes, unaccustomed to the sunlight reflecting off of the freshly polished droid.

"Master Jedi," the droid greeted, "I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. On behalf of Her Royal Highness, Queen Breha, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Alderaan."

The Jedi Knights walked past the droid, making a beeline for the palace doors. The droid's gears whirred quietly as it turned to follow. With its shuffling gait, it could barely keep pace with the brisk strides of the Jedi.

"Might I ask your names, so I can make the proper introductions?" it asked.

"We're here to get the Royal Family to safety," Qui-Gon responded gruffly. "We don't have time for the proper introductions."

"Perhaps later," Obi-Wan added, reassuring the droid with a smile. He didn't think it would have any effect, but the droid's humanoid form and servile demeanor led him to treat it with sympathy. It was a clever design, really. Obi-Wan wondered how many diplomatic negotiations had been influenced by the protocol droid's benign appearance.

The walk from the landing pad to the Grand Hall of the palace was surprisingly brief. Most visitors to Alderaan would be led along one of the winding paths through the ceremonial gardens, in through the main doors, and then to one of the palace's many reception areas. Qui-Gon, however, displayed an uncanny familiarity with the palace's alternate entrances. He circumvented the gardens completely, and approached an unadorned side entrance guarded only by two security officers with antique rifles. They tensed and gripped their outdated weapons, eyeing the Jedi suspiciously as they approached. Before they could open their mouths to speak, they saw C-3PO struggling to catch up, and relaxed.

"Stand aside, stand aside!" the droid shouted, waving his hand frantically over his head. The palace doors slid open, and the trio entered. Qui-Gon found a maintenance turbolift that would bring them to the level of the Grand Hall, and they stepped aboard in silence. Obi-Wan wanted to ask Qui-Gon how he knew so much of the palace's layout, but he knew this was not the time. When the turbolift doors opened, Qui-Gon was predictably the first to step off.

"The Grand Hall will be..." C-3PO began, but it was clear Qui-Gon did not need directions. He spun on his heel, and marched left down the corridor with Obi-Wan in tow.

"...to your left," the droid finished, speaking only to the empty turbolift. He shook his head, and shuffled on behind them. As they moved, Obi-Wan turned his head from side to side in an effort to take in as much of the palace as he could. The corridor was lined with priceless sculptures and paintings. The high ceiling was supported by smooth marble columns at regular intervals, reminding him of an ancient cathedral. The doors, lights, and other fixtures were clearly modern, but designed in such a way that they complemented the older features of the building. The most impressive of these were the automatic doors leading to the Grand Hall. They were framed with brushed durasteel, but the panels set into them appeared to be made of rich, dark wood. The wooden panels were intricately carved with scenes from the proudest moments of Alderaan's history. In keeping with the planet's cultural objective of peace, there were none that depicted war or violence. Another pair of uniformed security officers stood beside the doors. These guards, at least, were armed with newer blaster rifles. They watched the Jedi and the droid approach, but did not react.

The doors to the Grand Hall slowly rumbled open, revealing an ornate chamber supported by two concentric rings of marble columns. Beyond the outer ring of columns, spotless floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning panoramic view of the lake and mountains beyond. At the center of the Grand Hall was a long conference table, with a throne at the far end. Both were carved from the same dark wood as the chamber doors. Normally, Queen Breha would be seated on that throne, but as the Jedi entered, she was standing, facing away from them. She was addressing a translucent blue hologram, emanating from a projector unit centered atop the conference table. The hologram was that of an elderly man in senatorial robes, with light, neatly groomed hair and a sympathetic twinkle in his eyes. Obi-Wan instantly recognized the man as Senator Palpatine. Flanking Queen Breha was her husband, Bail Organa, a uniformed security officer Obi-Wan did not recognize, and an attractive young woman with brown hair pulled back into a bun. Obi-Wan's gaze lingered on her as he instinctively studied her beautiful figure, but he quickly averted his eyes. Just in time, too, for she and the security officer glanced up at the Jedi as they approached.

"Ah," Palpatine said as the Jedi stepped into view, "I see Masters Jinn and Kenobi have arrived at last."

"And I'll tell them the same thing I told you, Marius," Breha replied sternly. She did not break eye contact with the hologram, or make any effort to greet her new arrivals. "I will not hide on Coruscant and leave my people to fend for themselves. Alderaan will resist—"

"And lose, I'm afraid," Palpatine interjected. "Forgive me for saying so, Your Highness, but Alderaan is in an indefensible position. If you were to be captured..." he allowed his voice to trail off, leaving everyone in the room to imagine the worst for themselves. Bail leaned toward his wife.

"He has a point, my love," he warned, his voice practically a whisper. "If Alderaan is attacked, we could rally other systems from Coruscant."

"We are a peaceful planet, Senator," Breha announced, addressing the hologram once more, "but we are not naive. We have more weapons in our vaults than a dozen other systems, and our security forces are prepared to use them."

"Your Highness," Qui-Gon stepped forward. "No one doubts the courage of your men, or your ability to lead them. We only ask that you come with us to the safest possible position, at the heart of the Republic."

Breha glared at him, then turned to the young woman beside her. "Secretary Naberrie?" The woman stepped forward, and Breha promptly continued. "How long can Aldera hold out in the event of an attack?"

"With rationing, we can supply the population for at least a year," Naberrie replied. Her voice was firm but pleasant, befitting her years of government experience. "Our shield generator was inspected by Chief Ulgo this morning. He reported no issues."

Breha nodded with satisfaction, and addressed Qui-Gon once more. "This is the safest possible position, Master Jedi. I will be staying here with my people, come hell or high water."

"Your Hi—" Palpatine's hologram flickered. "Go wit—Jed—" Everyone in the room turned toward the image, only to see an unrecognizable mess of wavy blue lines. Within seconds, the hologram was gone. Obi-Wan took a short step toward Qui-Gon.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he said quietly. Qui-Gon said nothing in reply, but Obi-Wan could see that he was on edge. Both of them could feel a disturbance in the Force, like a wave of nausea, telling them that danger was rapidly approaching. Obi-Wan wanted to obey his primal instincts and run, but his sense of duty was more powerful. He knew he was surrounded by people he could not abandon. Before he could speak again, the deafening sound of an explosion erupted outside the palace. The floor shuddered beneath his feet, and the hanging light fixtures swung violently. The physical effects reminded him of an earthquake, but the sound was unlike anything he'd ever heard before: a grating metallic boom, like a droid malfunctioning into an amplifier. Qui-Gon and Bail rushed to the window as the other occupants of the room grabbed hold of the table to steady themselves. The once-beautiful view outside had been transformed into something out of a nightmare. A kilometer-wide cloud of dust was rising from the mountains beyond the lake. Slabs of rock were sliding down the face of the mountain and crashing into the water. With them came twisted pieces of red-hot metal, each weighing several hundred tons.

"That was our shield generator," Bail gasped, the color draining from his face. He whirled around and pointed at the security officer, who was bracing himself against the Queen's desk with one hand. "Captain Rieekan, get me a status update from every province, _now!_" he ordered.

Bail's subordinate reached for a communication panel mounted along the edge of the table, but before he could activate it, there was another explosion from outside. This one was much closer, sending violent tremors through the entire palace. Obi-Wan winced at the ear-piercing noise. When he looked up again, the Grand Hall was much darker than before. The artificial lights had gone out, and a cloud of dust and debris had blown up against the cracked windows, obscuring the sun.

"Viceroy, we're without power!" Rieekan shouted. Bail grimaced angrily, and looked back out the window. The sun was beginning to peek through again as the wind carried the dust away. The muffled roar of panicked crowds could be heard from the streets. A fresh crater had appeared on the shore of the island, where the power generator for the city of Aldera once stood. An unforgiving wall of lake water poured into the crater, submerging any hope of a coordinated defense.

"Seismic charges," Qui-Gon murmured. The emotion was gone from his voice. He knew there was only one path ahead, and it was going to be bloody. He noticed his hands were trembling with the onset of adrenaline, and hooked his thumbs into his belt to steady them. With the little finger of his right hand, he gently brushed against the hilt of his lightsaber. It comforted him to have a physical reminder that it was still there. His gaze was fixed on the sky, where a cloud of tiny black dots had appeared. For now, they were too far away to see clearly, but his intuition told him they were landing ships, descending on Alderaan like a swarm of locusts.

"No communications. No shields. No power," Bail growled angrily. "You know what this is."

Qui-Gon nodded, and answered with a single word.

"Invasion."


	2. Chapter 2

II

Unbeknownst to many, the Aldera Royal Palace was practically a city within a city. In addition to its Grand Hall, various meeting rooms, art galleries, kitchens, and banquet halls, it was connected to a sprawling network of underground buildings. These areas housed the more sensitive instruments of Alderaan's government: computer databanks, weapons vaults, and hangars which were cleverly concealed by local plant life. Among these buildings was a staple of every great castle: a dungeon. This particular dungeon was far more advanced than its ancient ancestors. It boasted state-of-the-art security systems, communications equipment, and utilities. It was rarely used, as the refined population of Alderaan seldom had reason to misbehave on the palace grounds. All the same, it was clean, well-maintained, and could house several dozen criminal offenders in separate cells.

When the bombardment of Alderaan began, the dungeon held only one prisoner: a young man, barely twenty, with dirty blond hair and a clean-shaven face. He wore a light-colored tunic and pants, marked here and there with faded grease stains, and leather boots that matched the empty holster belted to his right hip. The prisoner sat on the immaculate floor of his cell, tapping his fingers on his knees and watching their shadows dance in the fluorescent light. Every few minutes, he sighed, and glanced up at the windowless metal door. He desperately wanted it to open, but he knew it would not. He hadn't seen or heard any guards since he'd been thrown into the cell, and that felt like an eternity ago.

He felt the first explosion as a dull vibration in the floor, accompanied by a momentary flicker in the light above his head. His fingers froze mid-tap, and his eyes went up to the ceiling, awaiting further sign. His gut told him something was terribly wrong, but his eyes reassured him. _At least the power is still on_, he told himself. Then, the second explosion came. This one sounded much closer. It shook the entire cell, and somehow caused the overhead light to go completely dark. The prisoner scrambled to his feet just as an emergency backup light clicked on, bathing the interior of the cell in red. He made his way to the door, and frantically pounded on it with his fist.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Is anybody there?"

As he expected, there was no response. He took a step back, moving into view of the camera mounted into the corner of the ceiling. He threw his hands out, palms up, in an unmistakably irritated gesture. There was no indication that the camera itself was still working, or if there was even anyone monitoring it, so he went back to the door and pounded on it again. The red light that illuminated his cell grew dimmer, and he could now hear a faint rumbling sound from somewhere outside. He pressed his ear to the door, but that only made the rumbling louder, not clearer. He took a step back and put his hands on his hips. There had been plenty of close calls in his life, but this was something else. He still had the awful feeling of anticipation in his gut, a lingering sense that he would be buried alive in this dungeon. To keep calm, he tried to think of something funny, some joke or distraction to keep his heart rate down and allow the rational part of his brain to work. He looked around the cell, wondering how he could position his body to deliver a vulgar salute to whoever opened the door after he expired. A smirk crossed his face as he pictured his own skeleton making an obscene gesture to the one who finally got around to checking on him. Just then, he heard a muffled whistle on the other side of the cell. His eyes widened, and he lunged forward to listen more closely. There it was again! A series of beeps and chirps, steadily growing louder and, if his ears did not deceive him, more frantic. _Droid_, the prisoner thought.

"Hello!" the prisoner shouted. "Can you hear me?"

There was a pause, then an inquisitive whistle.

"Yes!" He was suddenly elated. "Hey, you gotta get me out of here! The lights went out; it feels like the ground's about to come down on my head! Open up, will you?"

The droid's response was placating, but dismissive. The prisoner listened carefully, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Repairs? You have to make repairs?" he asked. "To what? What's going on out there?"

Seconds passed. There were a few more beeps, then silence.

"Hey! Don't leave!" the young man cried. "At least get the guard to open the door!"

This time, the droid's response was immediate. The prisoner's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Evacuated?" he shouted. "Well, they didn't evacuate _me!_ Come on, open the door! I've got to get out of here, too!"

The droid's next reply was lower, more muffled, and sounded skeptical.

"Hey, I don't deserve this!" the man pleaded. "I didn't hurt anybody! If you don't open that door, I'm as good as dead!"

He was met with only silence from outside. The rumbling picked up again, closer than before. Now the entire floor was vibrating. For all he knew, the droid was already gone, and with it, his only hope of escape.

"Look, I've got family off-world! They need me! What am I supposed to—"

He was interrupted by the sound of hidden hydraulics. The door slid open from the floor, disappearing into the ceiling. He grinned and took a half-step forward, freedom within his grasp at last. His eyes were drawn to a blue and white astromech droid standing outside his cell. The droid was backing away from the outer door frame, where the locking mechanism was located. A small metal rod retracted into its cylindrical body, and a clean, white panel closed over it. _I knew it was an R2 unit_, the prisoner mused. The droid turned and rolled past the open door, its dome-shaped head rotating atop its body. The man stepped out into the corridor, and stared down into the droid's photoreceptor lens.

"Thanks, little guy," he said breathlessly. The astromech droid chirped at him, prompting him to look up and down the corridor. There wasn't another human being in sight, nor were there any other droids, for that matter. He felt the ominous vibrations in the floor growing more intense by the second.

"I'd say your repairs are going to have to wait," he remarked. "What's the quickest way out of here?"

Several stories above the dungeon, oblivious to the lone prisoner and the R2 unit, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan led the Royal Family and their entourage toward the palace exit. Bail Organa was right behind the Jedi, and Queen Breha stayed by his side, moving with surprising speed in spite of her elaborate dress. Behind them came Captain Rieekan, who scanned their surroundings with a look of grim determination on his face. His blaster was already unholstered. Rieekan had his muzzle pointed down at the floor, but his body language left no doubt that he was prepared to raise it at a moment's notice. Behind Rieekan was the young woman whose beauty had caught Obi-Wan's attention earlier, Padmé Naberrie. At the tail end of the group was the protocol droid, C-3PO, his gears quietly whirring as he hurried along on his stiff metallic legs.

Everyone in the group had good reason to be on edge. Ever since they had rushed out of the Grand Hall, there had been more explosions from beyond the palace walls. The ornate windows lining the corridors cracked, then shattered. Even the marble columns, strong as they were, began to crumble beneath the onslaught. As the windows were torn from their frames by each successive blast, the noise of the invasion force grew to deafening volume. Qui-Gon recognized the whirring engines of the landing ships drawing nearer to the ground. He refused to turn his head to look at them. He would not allow anything to distract him from his mission—_our mission_, he corrected himself, thinking of Obi-Wan by his side—and he knew if he cracked open the door to his memories of the last great war, it would burst open and drown the rest of his mind.

Qui-Gon led the group past several turbolifts without even glancing at them. Even if they still worked, they would be death traps at this point. Instead, he made a beeline for a wide spiral staircase near the outer corner of the palace, one that he knew would take them to ground level. Apart from C-3PO's helpless moaning, no one spoke as they trotted down the stairs. They reached a landing on the second story, which had once offered a splendid view of the gardens, the city beyond, and the lake and mountains beyond that. Here, Qui-Gon stopped in his tracks, having no choice but to look straight ahead. The windows were gone, reduced to tiny shards of glass that crunched beneath his boots. The gardens, with their resilient trees and sprawling hedges, were still recognizable. The city beyond was not.

The white buildings of Aldera were scorched black, and thick clouds of smoke billowed from their gutted interiors. A cacophony of screams wafted across the gardens, accompanied by the stink of burning synthetic materials. Tiny figures could be seen running in all directions, some in small groups like Qui-Gon's, others solitary. The lake reflected the light of Alderaan's sun beautifully, as it always had, but just above the water, there was a buzzing mass not unlike a cloud of gnats. Qui-Gon needed no electrobinoculars to recognize the cloud hovering over the water. It was a swarm of STAPs—vertical fighting vehicles utilized by the Mandalorians as a screening force. Already, they descended on the helpless civilians in the streets, sowing even more panic and discord in advance of the main army. Qui-Gon looked beyond the STAPs, and saw more vehicles creeping out over the water from the far shore. These were larger and slower, built in the shape of a giant, legless scorpion atop an overturned shovel blade. These were Armored Assault Tanks, or AATs, each carrying enough munitions to level a city block. Behind these were C-9979 landing ships, perched confidently on the flattest stretches of the foothills. Each landing ship stood 150 meters high, with two parallel wings on each side, like the thorax of some enormous dragonfly. The wings were nearly 400 meters from tip to tip, and were thick enough to carry entire columns of armored vehicles. The base of each landing ship had already opened up to regurgitate Multi-Troop Transports, or MTTs, out onto the earth. Each of these vehicles had a light gray hull, with various panels painted forest green, and others painted a deep, dark red, like dried blood. Qui-Gon gulped as he watched the Mandalorian army close in on the city. His mouth was dry, and he could not bring himself to look away. He was losing himself.

Obi-Wan knew his master had spent far too much time standing still. Through the Force, he felt something like static electricity emanating from the older man, and he knew he had to intervene. He glanced at the Royal Family behind him, and saw the terrified looks on their faces. Looking back to his master, he bit his lip, let his breath escape through his nostrils, and placed his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. Qui-Gon jerked as if he'd been stuck with a needle, and whirled around with a mixture of fury and pain in his eyes.

"Forgive me, Master," Obi-Wan said quickly, using the Force to lend strength to his words. It wasn't a mind trick—not quite—but it gave him the ability to cut through the electric haze of Qui-Gon's past trauma. The effect was instantaneous. Obi-Wan saw the edge of discipline return to Qui-Gon's eyes, the look that betrayed his warrior past even to total strangers. Qui-Gon looked over his shoulder at the group, just as Obi-Wan had done a moment earlier, and gave a quick nod.

"We're almost there," he growled. "Let's go!"

They hurried to the bottom of the staircase. Once they reached ground level, Qui-Gon led them to the side entrance he'd used before. He stepped through the doorway, which already stood completely open. Obi-Wan came up behind him, stepping out to one side to shield the ones behind him. He saw the palace guards kneeling on either side of the doorway, their antique rifles raised to their shoulders. From where he stood, Obi-Wan could see their muzzles shaking, and felt pity for them. It had been a long time since Alderaan had seen combat, and the warriors of Mandalore were not an ideal warm-up. He turned his attention away from the guards, to the landing pad where their cruiser, miraculously, still stood. He smiled, forgetting the burning city around him and focusing only on their ticket home. He did not see the AATs floating smoothly up one of Aldera's wide boulevards. The lead tank fired a single round from its main cannon, striking the cruiser's midsection. The shot sent the cruiser's bow and stern cartwheeling in opposite directions. The engines gave an ear-piercing squeal as they were torn apart by the energy of the blast. Flaming pieces of red and white metal clattered to the ground.

"Damn," Obi-Wan hissed, seeing the AATs hover into view. He could see Mandalorian shock troops clinging to rails on either side of each tank, brandishing short-barreled black carbines. They must have seen him at the same time, for there was a burst of flame that erupted behind each of them, carrying them up into the air and forward in a high arc. Obi-Wan's eyes followed the soldiers' upward trajectory, and simultaneously widened in disbelief. The last thing he expected to see this day was a squad of Mandalorians descending on him with jetpacks.

"We'll have to find another way," Qui-Gon growled, spinning on his heel to head back inside the palace.

"The Royal Hangar," Bail piped up. Qui-Gon stopped and stared, as if seeing him for the first time. The others in the group turned to face the viceroy, who held his head high and radiated confidence. "Follow me," he urged them.

Bail led the group down a wide corridor which connected the palace's expansive wings. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan flanked him, while the others stayed close behind.

"The entrance to the hangar is on the other side of the palace," Bail explained, pointing straight ahead. By now, the grand entryway was off to one side, less than fifty meters ahead of them. Sunlight streamed in through the open entryway, gleaming off the waxed marble floor. Obi-Wan leaned forward, and looked across Bail's chest at Qui-Gon. They had the same look of concern on their faces. Programming all the doors to open automatically would have been helpful in a regular emergency, but with an invasion underway, it did more harm than good. The Jedi Knights quickened their pace, placing themselves slightly in front of Bail, and unhooked their lightsabers from their belts.

A tremor in the Force warned the Jedi of danger just before they saw it. They raised their lightsabers and ignited them as one. Qui-Gon's blade hissed to life with a brilliant flash of green, while Obi-Wan's gave off a striking blue color. As soon as the blades erupted from their hilts, four Mandalorian soldiers dropped through the open doors, barely fifteen meters away. They were clad in gray jumpsuits, dark green body armor, and helmets that extended down past their jaws. Each helmet had a tinted black visor, framed with red, in the shape of a Tau cross. The Mandalorians landed on their feet, smoke still billowing from their jetpacks, and snapped their carbines to their shoulders. The first two through the door aimed straight ahead, scanning the main hall, while the other two spun to either side, covering the corridors. Luckily, that gave the Jedi only one initial threat. The Mandalorian who was unlucky enough to face them pulled his carbine in tightly to his shoulder, and fired twice.

Obi-Wan felt the Force pulling on his lightsaber like a magnet, and acted as his years of training had conditioned him to act. He allowed the lightsaber to move without conscious thought, and the Force directed it into the path of the Mandalorian's shot. An instant later, he felt his lightsaber twitch in his hands. He looked past his blade, and saw the Mandalorian stumble backward with a fresh black spot on his body armor. The soldier shrugged off the hit, swung the muzzle of his carbine over toward Qui-Gon, and fired again. The Force flowed through Qui-Gon just as it had through Obi-Wan, and he, too, blocked the shot perfectly.

By now, the other three Mandalorians had moved up to join the fight. Obi-Wan knew they could not hold this position forever, and looked back at Bail. He was already taking action, frantically ushering the others down a side corridor. Obi-Wan adjusted his footing and angled his body to more effectively shield them as they retreated. His lightsaber jumped from side to side, deflecting blaster bolts into the floor, the walls, and the enemy. One of the shots Qui-Gon sent back slipped between a soldier's armor panels, piercing jumpsuit, skin, and flesh. The soldier gave out an anguished cry as he fell. Without hesitation, one of his comrades let go of his carbine, allowing it to hang by its sling. He grabbed hold of the fallen man with both hands and ignited his jetpack, carrying both soldiers around the corner and out of view.

Obi-Wan was tempted to look at Qui-Gon out of the corner of his eye, but caught himself. Instead of taking his attention away from the immediate threat, he reached out with the Force, and felt Qui-Gon urging him to advance. Together, the Jedi closed on the remaining two Mandalorian soldiers, batting dozens of blaster bolts away with their lightsabers. Qui-Gon reached his target first, and his cold expression did not change as he cut the Mandalorian down. Obi-Wan struck next, gritting his teeth reflexively as he thrust his blade between the soldier's chest panels. When it was over, he looked up, and saw Qui-Gon standing face-to-face with him. Qui-Gon had just said something, but he hadn't heard it. His eyes narrowed, and Qui-Gon gestured toward the palace doors.

"There will be more of them," he warned. "Stay with the others."

Obi-Wan nodded, and trotted down the corridor with lightsaber in hand. Every so often, he looked back to confirm that Qui-Gon was right behind him. Sure enough, he was still there, carrying his lightsaber in a reverse grip so the green blade covered their backs. So far, no Mandalorians had pursued them, but he knew that would not last. Obi-Wan rounded one more corner, and found the group there, huddled together in fear. Now, even Bail had a defeated look in his eyes.

"We can't get to the hangar now," Bail lamented. "We're trapped."

"Oh, dear," C-3PO said, his artificial voice quivering.

"With all these corridors, there's got to be another path!" Obi-Wan exclaimed.

This time, it was Captain Rieekan who spoke up. "There is," Rieekan confirmed, "but we'd have to go the long way around. By the time we get there, the palace will be crawling with enemy soldiers."

"What about the tunnels?" Queen Breha interjected. The rest of the group turned to look at her. She stood further down the corridor, gazing intently at a painting that depicted Aldera in the early days of the Old Republic.

"The tunnels, Your Highness?" Obi-Wan asked, puzzled. Padmé caught on to the queen's suggestion, and answered on her behalf.

"This palace was built with escape tunnels that run under the lake, and into the mountains," Padmé said. "We could use them, but in order to access them, we'd need to get to Chief Ulgo."

At this, Bail nodded grimly. "We haven't had contact with him since he inspected the shield generator this morning. For all we know, he was lost in the attack."

Silence hung over the group, interrupted only by muffled explosions from beyond the palace walls. Before anyone else spoke, Obi-Wan looked over at Queen Breha, and saw a man step into the corridor behind her. Obi-Wan tensed, then relaxed when he identified the guard uniform the man was wearing. The insignia on the uniform indicated a high-ranking official, and Obi-Wan's observation was confirmed with the next words out of Bail's mouth.

"Chief Ulgo!" Bail cried out with glee in his voice. "We thought you were—"

Bail was abruptly cut off by Chief Ulgo himself, who stopped in the middle of the corridor, drew his blaster pistol, and shot Queen Breha in the chest.

"NO!" Bail screamed, lunging forward to protect his wife. Captain Rieekan raised his blaster, his face contorted into an enraged snarl. Obi-Wan was closer than either of them, and leapt toward the threat, slashing downward with his lightsaber. This time, the minimal resistance Obi-Wan felt as the blade made its cut did not bother him in the least. Chief Ulgo collapsed, the blaster still in his hand. Rieekan stepped forward and kicked the blaster away—a useless gesture, but Obi-Wan knew from the look on his face that it wouldn't do any good to tell him. Instead, he looked over at Queen Breha, lying motionless on the floor beneath the painting of her city. Bail knelt beside her with tears in his eyes. Padmé knelt opposite him, gently laying her hand on Queen Breha's wound.

"Traitor," Bail hissed through gritted teeth. Padmé looked up at him, confused, and saw that he was glaring at Chief Ulgo's lifeless body.

"Viceroy," Padmé said softly, "She's alive."

Both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon thumbed their lightsabers, and the energy blades disappeared with a short hiss. Bail leaned over his wife, and gently checked her carotid artery for a pulse. When he felt her heartbeat through his fingertips, he wept with joy.

"Oh, thank goodness!" C-3PO said excitedly. The Jedi looked at each other, relieved that they had not lost the queen. By that time, Captain Rieekan had picked up Ulgo's pistol, and was turning it in his hand.

"His blaster was set to stun," Rieekan announced.

"He wanted her alive," said Bail, his voice barely above a whisper.

"He wanted her for the Mandalorians," Qui-Gon said. "_They_ wanted her alive."

Obi-Wan looked into his master's eyes, and finally understood the enemy's objective. Twenty years ago, the Treaty of Aldera had humiliated the Mandalorians. Now, they wanted to punish Queen Breha with a new treaty—one that would undoubtedly be just as painful for Alderaan as its predecessor was to Mandalore. _Qui-Gon was right_, Obi-Wan realized. _They are not fools_. He glanced down at the body crumpled at his feet. Ulgo's reason for betraying his planet and his people would go with him to the grave. Now, as before, all that mattered to Obi-Wan and the others was escape.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Obi-Wan knew they could not linger in the corridor for long. The Mandalorians were already inside the palace, and the marble interior had carried the echo of Chief Ulgo's blaster shot far and wide. Thinking quickly, he stepped over Ulgo's body to address Captain Rieekan up close.

"You know the way, Captain," Obi-Wan said. "Let's get out of here while we still have a chance."

Rieekan nodded, and gestured for the group to follow him. Bail scooped his unconscious wife up in his arms and stood, showing no signs of straining. As Bail stepped forward, Qui-Gon moved up behind him, gripping his deactivated lightsaber tightly. Rieekan led them through a maze of halls, carefully peeking around every corner before exposing himself to the unknown. No more blaster shots were heard inside the palace, and the explosions from outside grew further and further apart. From the sound of it, the Mandalorians were just mopping up now. Aldera was theirs. Obi-Wan breathed deeply to keep himself calm. The odds against them seemed more bleak by the minute. He pushed the thoughts of despair out of his head, and looked to the end of the hallway. There was an open door, with an unlit chamber beyond. Obi-Wan sensed something in the darkness, just out of view, and gestured for the group to be still. He signaled to Rieekan, who nodded and slunk forward, flattening his back against the wall. Obi-Wan crept up to the edge of the door frame opposite Rieekan, scanning a larger piece of the unlit chamber with each step. He saw movement inside the room, and froze, but it was too late. A fresh volley of blaster bolts impacted the wall just in front of him, forcing him to retreat. He ignited his lightsaber, and saw Rieekan raise his pistol to cover the open door. Then, from behind, he heard the low roar of Mandalorian jetpacks. He flinched, but caught himself before turning away from the doorway. Through the Force, he sensed Qui-Gon fighting off more soldiers behind them. With the enemy firing on them from both sides, they had no choice but to change course again. Bail carried Queen Breha off to one side, where a descending staircase branched off from the corridor.

"Come on!" Padmé yelled to the Jedi as she sprinted after Bail.

Obi-Wan gestured to Rieekan. "Go!" he shouted. Rieekan's face had a reluctant expression—he did not want to retreat—but he did as Obi-Wan directed. He ran across the corridor, leaning forward at the waist. He sidestepped around C-3PO, who was shuffling back and forth and flailing his arms in a panic. The protocol droid saw Rieekan rush past, and followed, leaving only Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in the corridor. Fortunately for the Jedi, the Mandalorians were disciplined enough to avoid a crossfire. The soldiers on Obi-Wan's side of the hall stayed in the unlit chamber, behind cover, and took carefully angled shots that would not hit the men facing Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan waved his lightsaber to and fro, skillfully blocking every shot within reach. He carefully backpedaled toward the descending stairs, rolling his feet toe-to-heel to avoid tripping over the chunks of marble kicked loose by the shots he could not intercept. He felt confident that he could hold his side, but he could sense Qui-Gon growing anxious. The Mandalorians facing Qui-Gon were unloading their carbines as quickly as their trigger fingers would allow. He risked a brief glance over his shoulder, and watched Qui-Gon sweep his blade around in a series of circles and figure-8 motions. Qui-Gon moved faster and faster, aided by the power of the Force. In his hands, his weapon became a whirlwind of emerald light. Obi-Wan felt a rush of excitement, and thought of calling out to encourage his partner, but decided against it. With more Mandalorian soldiers pouring into the corridor, even a well-intentioned gesture could be a fatal distraction.

Qui-Gon could feel the danger to himself growing exponentially. He could no longer aim the enemy's shots as he sent them back; in fact, with so much blaster fire raining down on him, it was all he could do to deflect the shots at all. He could sense that Obi-Wan and the others had made it to a safer position, and stepped back to join them. As he moved, some of the Mandalorians' shots went wide, allowing him the luxury of time. Before they could adjust their aim, he lunged out with his lightsaber, and caught one blaster bolt at just the right moment. The bolt hurtled back toward the Mandalorian who had fired it, and struck his thigh, where there was no armor to protect him. The soldier collapsed, gripping his injured leg with both hands. The Mandalorian squad leader, set apart from the others by his mustard-yellow shoulder armor, barked an order in their ancient language. The soldiers knelt in response to the order, letting go of their carbines and extending their left fists toward Qui-Gon in a punching motion. They curled their right hands over their extended forearms, and Qui-Gon's heart sank. The Mandalorians were going to give him something he could not send back.

Through the Force, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon's fear radiate outward, and stepped forward to help. He looked down the corridor, and saw the Mandalorians kneeling, with their fists extended. Before Obi-Wan could move to assist, he saw tiny flashes of light erupt from the Mandalorians' wrists. The _swoosh_ of half a dozen rockets reverberated down the hallway. Obi-Wan raised his hands, and felt the energy of the Force harden around him like an invisible shell. In spite of that protection, he felt a wall of air pummel him, knocking the wind out of him and flinging him down the stairs. He landed on his back, and for some time, he heard nothing past the ringing in his ears.

Obi-Wan groaned and tried to sit up, but his muscles were drained of energy and would not respond. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt a strong pair of hands under each of his arms. Bail and Rieekan lifted him to his feet, and he blinked rapidly as he struggled to regain his bearings. He realized he was no longer holding his lightsaber, and looked around for it around his feet. It was gone. Obi-Wan's gaze traveled up to the top of the staircase and froze there. The thought of finding his lightsaber vanished. The entrance to the hallway at the top of the stairs was no more. The Mandalorian rockets had pulverized the marble archway and support columns, leaving a wall of broken stone where the opening had been seconds before. To make matters worse, Qui-Gon was pressed into the corner where the floor met the wall, half-buried in the rubble.

Obi-Wan could see Qui-Gon straining and gritting his teeth in obvious pain. The ruined marble had collapsed onto his hips and legs, pinning them completely. Qui-Gon had his hands in front of his chest, palms out, using every bit of concentration to protect himself from further injury. He gritted his teeth, in obvious pain. His lightsaber was also nowhere to be seen.

"Master Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan called. He started to run up the stairs, but forgot how hard he'd landed, and nearly tripped on his first step. He slapped his hand against the wall for balance, and staggered the rest of the way up the stairs. He knelt down to tend to his partner, and saw that Qui-Gon was panting heavily. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. Qui-Gon's fingers trembled, and his connection to the Force waned ever so slightly. The rubble settled noisily, putting even more weight on his legs. He scrunched up his face and let out a quiet groan. Obi-Wan winced as he felt his mentor's agony.

"Master Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan pleaded desperately, "let me help you."

"No," Qui-Gon said weakly. "There's no time. Get the others to safety."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm not leaving you. We'll move this rubble, and I'll carry you if I have to—"

"No, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ordered. He closed his eyes, and inhaled through his nostrils, gathering his inner strength so he could speak without gasping. "If you carry me, you cannot fight. Protect the others. Get off this planet...however you can. Get...to Coruscant."

Qui-Gon's voice trailed off, and his eyes closed. He was still breathing, but all of his energy was now devoted to his injuries, and he would say no more. Tears welled up in Obi-Wan's eyes as he realized Qui-Gon was right. It was futile to argue. Even with the Force to aid him, he would never be able to extricate Qui-Gon from the rubble before the Mandalorians found them. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the somber gaze of Padmé, then Captain Rieekan, then Viceroy Organa. He didn't want to admit it, but his responsibility to his fellow knight was outweighed by his need to protect their lives. And, with his lightsaber likely crushed beyond recognition by the unforgiving rock, he would have to rely solely on his wits to get them the rest of the way to the hangar. He slowly stood, drawing in a deep breath to ease the woozy feeling in his head. No longer could he rely on Qui-Gon's wisdom and experience. For the first time, he was the leader—and he already hated it.

Obi-Wan and Rieekan descended the staircase quietly, walking shoulder-to-shoulder as they had done before. Just three steps from the bottom, they heard a noise, and pressed their backs to the wall. To Obi-Wan, it sounded like the beeping of an astromech droid, but Rieekan must have seen something more threatening. The young captain extended his blaster, pointing it around the corner, where Obi-Wan could not see.

"Freeze!" Rieekan shouted. "Hands up!"

Rieekan's verbal commands prompted a surprised buzzing sound from the droid.

"Well, which is it?" a young man's voice replied cynically. "I can't do both."

Obi-Wan could sense no hostile intent, but he did feel something unusual, as if the Force was beckoning him forward. He stepped around Rieekan to assess the situation for himself. Sure enough, there was a blue and white R2 unit, its head rotating back and forth as it studied them. Next to the droid stood a young man, about twenty, clean-shaven with a mess of blond hair. His arms were at his sides, with his palms facing Rieekan in a half-hearted placating gesture.

"Who are you?" Rieekan demanded.

"I'm the guy who was left for dead in the basement," he replied dryly, "So I guess I'm nobody."

Rieekan was not amused by the young man's sarcasm. He stepped forward, the muzzle of his blaster fixed on the young man's chest. "I know where you came from," he growled. "Hands on your head."

The man rolled his eyes, but obeyed. Rieekan patted the stranger down for weapons, clutching his blaster so tightly his knuckles turned white. Fortunately for all of them, he had enough discipline to keep his trigger finger straight.

"Are you armed?" Rieekan asked with a gruff, demanding tone.

"They took my blaster when they locked me up," the prisoner explained. "You ought to give me one; I'm a pretty good shot."

"Not a chance," snapped Rieekan.

Satisfied that the prisoner was unarmed, Rieekan stepped back and rejoined the others. The prisoner, meanwhile, looked over the group, a flirtatious smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when his eyes found Padmé. The smirk gave way to a look of concern when he saw Bail holding the unconscious Queen Breha in his arms.

"What's wrong with her?" the prisoner asked. Bail set his jaw and glared, giving him all the answer he needed. Obi-Wan could sense the tension was doing them no good, and resolved to get the group moving again.

"We don't have time for this," Obi-Wan spoke up. "Captain? We need a way out."

Rieekan looked the prisoner up and down one more time, as if expecting him to transform into something dangerous. He issued one final warning before turning his attention back to Obi-Wan. "Keep up," he said, "and keep quiet."

The group continued on toward the hangar, with Obi-Wan and Rieekan in the lead. Bail was next behind them, followed by the two youngest members of the group. The prisoner leaned to one side, and spoke to Padmé with a voice barely above a whisper.

"Why is everyone in such a hurry?" he asked.

"Alderaan is under attack," she replied, just as quietly. "The Mandalorians have landed an army."

"An army? Here?" he asked. Padmé nodded her head.

"They've taken the city," she added, "and they're searching the palace."

"For what?"

She turned and looked him in the eye without breaking her stride. "For us," she said forebodingly.

The prisoner's eyes widened. He stopped to digest what he'd just been told, and the droids behind him had to stop short to keep from running into him. He heard their startled reactions, and took a great stride forward to catch up. Before he could ask anything else of the young woman, he saw her and the others press their backs against the nearest wall. He did the same, but leaned forward out of curiosity. Rieekan had both hands on his blaster now, and was staring intently at a junction up ahead, while Obi-Wan was waving his hand back toward them, warning them to stay out of sight. The danger came into view mere seconds later. A squad of Mandalorian soldiers marched across the junction, holding their carbines at the ready. Behind them was a gaggle of prisoners with their hands raised. More Mandalorians went by on either side, escorting the prisoners to an unknown fate. When Rieekan caught a glimpse of the prisoners, his heart sank. They were coming from the direction of the Royal Hangar, and they were wearing pilots' uniforms.

"Those are our pilots," he hissed. Behind him, Bail closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling.

"They've taken the hangar," Bail whispered dejectedly. He seemed to deflate as all hope of escape left him. His shoulders slumped as his adrenaline wore off, and he finally started to feel the burning in his arms. Obi-Wan felt despair creep up on him again, and this time, he had even less energy with which to fight it. Only the prisoner seemed unfazed by the dire news.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning close to Padmé again. "What about my ship?"

Although he'd intended to speak only to her, perhaps to impress her, the rest of the group overheard. At once, four heads whirled around to face him.

"Your ship?" Padmé asked.

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding confidently.

Rieekan looked back at the junction, and saw the last of the prisoners being marched away. Thankfully, the Mandalorian rear guard stayed right behind them, without even looking in his direction. As soon as the danger had passed, Rieekan turned back to the stranger.

"We've had too many close calls today," he whispered. "How can we trust—"

Bail stepped out, cutting Rieekan off mid-sentence. "Where is it?" he asked.

The young man paused, seeing the determination in Bail's eyes. "You tell me," he replied. "Where do you guys keep impounded ships?"


	4. Chapter 4

IV

"Well?" the young man asked. His eyes went from one face to the next, as they stared right back in stunned silence. It had finally dawned on the group that this ruffian—this _prisoner_—was their only hope. Out of all of them, it seemed Obi-Wan and Padmé were the closest to accepting this unexpected truth. Bail and Rieekan, on the other hand, looked like they had just bitten into a piece of moldy fruit. After a moment of silence, Rieekan stepped forward.

"You're not leading us on? You really have a ship?" he asked, his expression grim.

The young man nodded impatiently. "Your men impounded it when they arrested me. By now, it's probably the only ship on Alderaan that isn't in Mandalorian hands."

Rieekan's expression softened. He didn't seem entirely satisfied, but he understood that their only other choice was to hunker down in the bowels of the palace, where they were sure to be captured eventually. That was not an option for him.

"This way," Rieekan said, stepping around the young man. He walked in the opposite direction of the Royal Hangar, and the others followed. They encountered no more enemy soldiers as they went, but Rieekan still slowed down at each corner, peeking around cautiously before waving the rest of the group forward. Before long, they came to a dead end, sealed off by a floor-to-ceiling blast door. There was a circular computer terminal on one side of the door frame, mounted at the perfect height for an astromech droid.

"The impound hangar is on the other side of this door," Rieekan explained. The R2 unit rolled up from behind him, chirping eagerly. The droid paused in front of the terminal, and extended a cylindrical tool from its body. As the droid worked on opening the door, Rieekan moved to the rear of the group, scanning the hallway with his blaster in hand. He couldn't see or hear any Mandalorians yet, but he also couldn't shake the feeling that they were coming. Obi-Wan felt the same way. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach warned him that they were extremely short on time. He turned toward the prisoner.

"What's your name, young man?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Anakin Skywalker," the prisoner replied. "Yours?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Jedi answered politely. "Tell me, Anakin: if your ship is on the other side of that door, how quickly can you be ready for takeoff?"

Anakin responded with a coy smile. "I've had to make a quick getaway once or twice before. Granted, that was without an entire army on my tail..."

Just then, the astromech emitted an excited squeal, and the blast door opened with a hiss.

"Oh, thank goodness!" C-3PO exclaimed as the door rose up into the ceiling. His words expressed a feeling of relief shared by the entire group. Beyond the open door was a vast underground hangar, with a retractable ceiling that, for the moment, was completely closed. The hangar was dimly lit, but they could clearly see that Anakin was telling the truth. In front of them was a single, battered-looking starship, resting on its landing gear with its boarding ramp already lowered. From above, it had the shape of a trowel blade, with a circular cockpit window at the center of the bow, and a round sensor dish just above and behind that. The ship was just over forty meters in length, and was painted a vibrant yellow color, interrupted by the occasional gray pipe or vent. A single laser cannon jutted forward from a dorsal turret near the stern.

"The _Phantom II_," Anakin explained as he walked across the hangar. "_Barloz_-class medium freighter, NovaQuad-D drive system, with a Class 2 hyperdrive."

"I like the color," Rieekan remarked flatly. Anakin looked over his shoulder and frowned. Rieekan looked down and bit his lip, immediately filled with regret for treating his potential rescuer so coldly.

"Artoo?" Anakin called out to the astromech droid. The droid's dome-shaped head rotated toward him. Anakin gestured to a computer terminal mounted to the floor next to the _Phantom II_. "Can you open up the hangar?" he asked.

"Once he does that, they'll be on us in no time," Obi-Wan warned.

Anakin stopped at the foot of the _Phantom II_'s boarding ramp, and extended his palm toward it. "You'd better get on board, then," he replied without missing a beat. Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Bail hurried up the ramp, with C-3PO close behind. Rieekan paused next to Anakin, and sighed.

"You get us out of here," he grumbled, "and I'll make sure you never pay for a drink again."

"Thanks, Captain," Anakin replied, keeping his eyes on the busy astromech droid. "I'll abuse it every chance I get."

Rieekan smirked, realizing for the first time that the two of them might be able to get along after all. He, too, looked down at the droid. "Where did you find him?" he asked.

"He found me," Anakin answered. "The last four on his ID plate are 'R2-D2.' He was leading me to the surface when we bumped into you. Devoted little guy, I'll give him that."

Before Anakin could go on, there was a rumbling noise from overhead. R2-D2 backed away from the computer terminal and whistled to get his attention. Anakin and Rieekan looked up to see the ceiling of the hangar retract. A thin bar of sunlight poured in from above, growing wider and wider as the ceiling opened up.

"Time to go," Anakin said, waving Rieekan and R2-D2 up the ramp ahead of him. They needed no further encouragement. Anakin hurried up the ramp, instinctively turning to make sure no one else was left behind. Seeing that he was the last one, he toggled a wall-mounted switch inside the ship, causing the ramp to swiftly rise up behind him. Anakin bladed his body to shuffle past the others, and jogged to the cockpit at the bow of the _Phantom II_. Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Rieekan followed. Bail remained behind with the droids, carefully buckling his unconscious wife into a seat in the common room.

Anakin leapt into the pilot's chair, ignoring the worn springs that squeaked beneath his weight. He flipped a series of switches to awaken the sleeping ship, operating on muscle memory alone. The engines whirred to life, illuminating the rest of the hanger with brilliant blue-white light, and the _Phantom II_ started to climb. As its landing gear retracted, Obi-Wan buckled himself into the seat next to Anakin, while Padmé and Rieekan took the two seats at the rear of the cockpit. All of them watched the sky for enemy ships, silently preparing for the worst. They knew as soon as the ship cleared the hangar, their lives would be hanging in the balance.

As the _Phantom II_ rose up out of the hangar, Anakin could see nothing but trees all around, blanketed by a cloud of black smoke. He glanced at one of the screens on his instrument panel, and saw tiny red dots dancing all across it, like a swarm of insects. He sighed quietly to himself.

"Scanner's picking up enemy ships," he advised.

"How many?" Obi-Wan asked, leaning over to see the screen for himself.

"A couple," Anakin snapped, more frustrated by the circumstances than the older man's inquiry. The _Phantom II_ was climbing past the canopy of the forest now, and while the air was still thick with smoke, he could see the lake off to one side, and the snow-capped mountains beyond. He deliberately avoided looking to the other side, knowing that the sight of Aldera burning would only distract him. Padmé let out a gasp behind him, confirming that he'd made the right decision.

"Sorry about your city," Anakin said, still keeping his eyes off of it. He was doing his best to sound sincere, but deep down, he didn't care about Aldera. All that mattered in this moment was putting those smoking ruins behind him. "I'm going to keep us low. If we're spotted, they'll be on us like flies on a dead bantha."

Obi-Wan grimaced at the analogy. He'd never seen a bantha, but Anakin's meaning was clear enough. He unconsciously closed his eyes and squeezed his fingers into the armrests of his chair, his stomach rising into his throat. The _Phantom II_ plunged toward the lake surrounding Aldera, then flattened out and accelerated. The scanner next to Anakin's hand emitted a shrill alarm, and the tiny red dots on the screen started to flash intensely. Behind them, two Mandalorian fighters were breaking away from the swarm, cutting parallel lines through the smoke as they began their pursuit.

"M3-A Scyk fighters," Anakin said, reading the screen out of the corner of his eye.

"Did you say _psych_ fighters?" Padmé asked.

"Close enough," Anakin replied. "MandalMotors' pride and joy. Named after a lizard. Funny story, I—"

"Lizards_?_" Padmé cut him off.

"Yeah, back home. They're little—"

"Just fly!" Obi-Wan shouted over them, his growing sensation of nausea overriding his calm demeanor.

"You know what? Remind me later," Anakin smirked, pushing the throttle all the way to the bulkhead. The _Phantom II_ was almost completely across the lake now, but the two Scyk fighters were closing in fast, spitting red energy bolts at their prey. Most of the lasers flew by harmlessly, flash-boiling piles of snow on the white slopes ahead, but one found its mark. Anakin's rear deflector shield absorbed most of the energy, but the ship jolted so severely that he inadvertently bit the inside of his own cheek.

"_Mmm!_" Anakin growled through pursed lips. He felt anger rising up in his chest, and his ears burned as his primal instincts took over. It was a sensation he'd felt before, and it seemed to lend him incredible luck whenever he embraced it. So, embrace it he did. Without any time to formulate a logical plan, he climbed into the mountains, the belly of his ship just meters above the ground. He thought of the fighters behind him, and what they intended to do to him. There was nothing he could give them—no information, no intelligence, nothing. This wasn't his war. His presence on Alderaan was just a coincidence, and yet they wanted to kill him. The fire in his chest smoldered. In that instant, his eyes locked onto the mouth of a narrow canyon. It called out to him, tugging at him like a current, and his hands moved the ship toward it. In the back of his mind, he could somehow see the entire path of the canyon: where it turned, where it widened, and where it ended. Anakin knew the Scyk fighters were still right behind him, but they were like background noise to him now. He focused his effort on his breathing. Combat breathing, some might call it. His nostrils flared. His pupils dilated. His body was preparing him for a fight. Without looking, he could tell that the others in the cockpit had no idea what he was going through. Even Obi-Wan was too anxious to pay any attention to him. _So much the better_, he thought. _They can keep their mouths shut, and thank me when it's over_.

The Mandalorian Scyk fighters were built for speed and maneuverability, with no armor to speak of. Their lightweight construction allowed them to outrun, out-climb, and turn inside of almost any other starfighter, giving them a unique edge in ship-to-ship combat. In addition, the pilots were clones, born and raised to give their lives for Mandalore. It was a surprise to both of them, therefore, that the pursuit had not ended minutes earlier, with the flaming wreckage of a _Barloz_-class freighter splashing anticlimactically into the lake. Instead, the volley that grazed the back quarter of the freighter seemed to light a fire under the pilot's seat. The bulky yellow ship alternated between hugging one canyon wall, then the other, tracing a "U" shape back and forth as it went. For such a clunky-looking freighter, she was astonishingly graceful—but the Mandalorians were not there for an air show. They locked onto their prey and fired every time a shot presented itself. Unfortunately for them, such shots were rare. Not only were they were hemmed in by the canyon, but they had to stay offset from one another to avoid a midair collision. Also, one could not pass directly behind the other without risking damage from the afterburners of the forward craft. This made their movements awkward and clumsy, not at all reflective of their fighters' capabilities, or their years of simulator training. The clones pressed on, both wondering if the pilot they were chasing had any other tricks up his sleeve.

Anakin could sense the end of the canyon ahead, and somehow he knew that the mountains beyond were too far apart to keep the Scyk fighters off his tail. He also knew that the single turret at the stern was completely ineffective against his pursuers. His instrument panel showed that the turret was active, and a tiny light flashed every time it fired a shot. _The viceroy_, Anakin thought, shaking his head. He admired Bail's tenacity, but he would have preferred better marksmanship. It never crossed his mind that it was ridiculous to expect accurate fire, given the circumstances. Perhaps if he was in a better mood, he would have been more forgiving. As things were, he could still taste a tinge of blood in his mouth, and that brought forth a fresh surge of adrenaline. His hands guided the _Phantom II _toward the end of the canyon. In his mind's eye, he could see the Scyk fighters behind him. At the same time, he could also see both of the pilots. He could feel that they were rattled; this was their first engagement outside of a training environment, and it was not going as well as they'd hoped. This made both of them angrier, and more eager to shoot him down. Anakin drew on their desire to kill him, using it to motivate himself. He stretched out with his mind, sensing everything from the wind blowing through the canyon to the strange, low hum of energy emanating from the Killik hives beyond the mountains. He saw all of that, and more. He saw a way to end the fight.

"Viceroy," Anakin spoke into the comm, "Hold your fire."

"Give me a minute," Bail replied through gritted teeth. "I'll get them."

"Viceroy, I need to draw them in close," Anakin countered, his patience wearing thin. "Hold...your...fire."

A moment's pause, then, a resigned, "Copy," hissed through the comm. The light on the instrument panel did not blink again.

"The rest of you, don't say a word," Anakin muttered, with more of an edge than he intended. "If this is going to work, I need to focus." Hearing no argument, Anakin tapped a series of keys on a console beside him. An alarm warbled from a tiny speaker set into the console. He silenced the noise with another keystroke. From there, his hand went to a pair of switches, covered by red plastic shields. He opened the first one, and gingerly rested the pad of his finger against the tip of the switch. His other hand remained steady on the yoke. His eyes focused straight ahead, picking out a rock formation that marked the exact point where he would have to pull up. When he reached it, he pointed the nose of the _Phantom II_ up at the sky. Even with the acceleration compensator, the maneuver smashed him painfully into his seat. The smoldering fire in his chest reached down his arm, through his hand, and flipped the switch for him. A ring of metal sheared away from the dorsal side of the ship, followed immediately by two semi-circular hull fragments. A great metal cylinder erupted from the circular hole, rocketing through the air like a cannonball. Anakin's timing was perfect. The cylinder smashed into the closest Scyk fighter, reducing both to an enormous fireball. The second fighter had just enough time to react, swerving around his comrade's falling wreckage and pulling up out of the canyon.

"What was that?" Obi-Wan asked, astonished.

"Escape pod," Anakin replied, grinning ecstatically. He couldn't explain how he'd done it, even if he had a blaster to his head. Then again, he didn't particularly feel the need to explain himself.

"You hit him with an _escape pod?_" Rieekan bellowed in disbelief.

"Free drinks for life, remember?" Anakin said dryly. "You ought to get your money's worth."

With that, Anakin leveled out the ship, and coasted over a blinding white plateau. He glanced at his scanner, which showed the other Scyk fighter coming around to continue the pursuit. Before it could get too close, he turned the ship 180 degrees. Anakin knew he would be a sitting duck over open terrain, and this pilot would keep his distance to avoid suffering the same fate as his clone. The _Phantom II_ and the last Scyk fighter roared toward each other on a collision course. Anakin diverted as much power as he could spare to the forward shields, and not a moment too soon. A fresh volley of laser fire jostled the _Phantom II_, its bright light causing the occupants of the cockpit to see spots. Once again, Anakin was confident that he would not need his eyes for this. His intuition told him exactly which way the pilot would veer to avoid a midair collision. Anakin put his finger on the second escape pod switch. Just before impact, the Mandalorian clone moved his Scyk fighter exactly the way Anakin thought he would. Anakin twisted the yoke, rotating the dorsal side of the _Phantom II_ toward the fighter, and flipped the switch. The second escape pod found its mark, but this time, the explosion was just a few meters away. Anakin winced as the blast wave rocked his ship. His other hand went back to the yoke, and he pulled as hard as he could to avoid bottoming out in the snow. _I didn't go through all this just to be caught shivering on the ground_, he thought. The _Phantom II_ began to climb again, this time up and out of the atmosphere. Anakin glanced at the scanner. No more Scyk fighters were within range. In fact, he saw no sign of any other ships at all. He looked around the cockpit at the others. All three were looking back at him, with stunned surprise on their faces. Minutes earlier, they'd assumed they were dealing with a common criminal, who was just lucky enough to have been incarcerated near his impounded freighter. Now, they were staring as if he was the Maker incarnate. Obi-Wan was the first to speak.

"Anakin," he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "That was...incredible."

Rieekan leaned forward in his seat, and extended his right hand. Anakin gratefully shook it. "I owe you more than Corellian rum," Rieekan said sheepishly. "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Anakin smiled, and returned Rieekan's firm grip. Padmé did not speak, but rewarded him with a faint smile. Anakin recognized that they could all benefit from a moment of peace, and looked forward as the clouds gave way to stars. He thought of his family, and imagined the looks of disbelief on their faces when they heard this story. _Especially Owen_, he mused. _He'll want to deck me for this one_. Just then, Anakin realized he hadn't had the opportunity to discuss his travel plans with his guests. He glanced over at Obi-Wan. The older man was staring straight ahead, his eyes slightly squinted, as if there was something in the distance he was struggling to see. A look of concern was etched into the Jedi Knight's face.

"What is it?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan thought back to his earlier conversation with Qui-Gon, when he'd sensed something unseen lurking in the space around Alderaan. The same eerie feeling was bothering him again, and now he had a better idea of what it was. "There are more ships ahead," he warned.

Anakin looked out ahead of the _Phantom II_, and saw nothing but a field of stars. He checked all of his scopes, but nothing registered there, either.

"Where?" he asked. "I don't see anything."

Obi-Wan was reminded of an old Jedi maxim, something he was taught in his earliest days as Master Yoda's apprentice. "Your eyes can deceive you," he said. "Don't trust them."

Anakin scoffed, and looked over at Obi-Wan, a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue. As he turned his head away from the stars, however, a sense of dread washed over him. It was the feeling of a pickpocket being caught red-handed. He locked eyes with Obi-Wan, and both men somehow knew they were experiencing the same thing.

"More ships," Anakin murmured. "Big ones. And there are lots of them."

Obi-Wan was astonished. "You can sense them?" he asked.

"Smuggler's intuition," Anakin said dismissively, trying not to let his nervousness show in his voice. "I don't know for sure, but—"

"Yes, you do," Obi-Wan corrected. He leaned closer to Anakin,. "You know they're out there, and you know where they are. You can get us past them."

"All right," Anakin said, taking the controls with both hands again. He had been given an impossible task. For all intents and purposes, he was piloting a submarine at the bottom of the ocean, without an iota of light to see. Somewhere ahead was a pod of enormous whales, invisible in the black water. To steer into one would be the end of their little journey; a tiny bubble of air would dissipate into the inky darkness, and these whales would sing no mournful song for them. Anakin took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. _I've got my work cut out for me_, he thought.

At first, Anakin made no adjustments to their flight path. He studied the stars, looking for any obstructions that would betray a ship's presence. There was nothing. The sensation he had earlier was gone. He was staring uselessly into the void. _But that's not right,_ he thought. _You sensed them earlier. You're doing something wrong. Come on! Think!_ As he mentally berated himself, the silhouettes of those great unseen whales reformed themselves in his mind. _That's the key_, he realized. _Get mad_. He breathed deeply, preparing for another fight. _Remember...they want to kill you. All of you._ Now that he considered the others to be his friends, it was even more personal for him. He felt the fire growing inside, and just like that, the feeling of dread returned. His hands pulled the yoke, and the _Phantom II_ veered hard to port.

"What are you doing?" Padmé asked. To her, Anakin had inexplicably pulled a violent turn when the path ahead of them looked completely clear. Before Anakin could reply, the Mandalorians answered for him. A giant metal prow appeared in their original path, less than a kilometer away. It simply pushed its way into existence, like the tip of a knife being stabbed through a black curtain. Behind the prow came the widening body of a Mandalorian capital ship, bristling with turbolaser batteries. It was a _Providence_-class carrier/destroyer, painted with the same gray, red, and forest green color scheme as the rest of the Mandalorian fleet. Obi-Wan, Padmé, and Rieekan stared open-mouthed as this monstrosity revealed itself fully. Anakin would have been awestruck, too, if lives weren't hanging in the balance. As things were, his only question was why the Mandalorians had deactivated their perfect camouflage. His first guess chilled him to the bone. _They can't fire unless they disable it_.

Anakin opened up the throttle, and the _Phantom II_ raced along its new path, underneath the enemy destroyer. He veered closer to the destroyer, certain that it would open fire at any moment. Sure enough, the turbolasers spat bolts of energy at him. He quickly checked the status of his deflector shields, and darted to and fro to keep the Mandalorians guessing. The _Phantom II_ zipped out behind the destroyer, but Anakin's intuition warned him that he was rapidly approaching another one. He altered his path again, this time hard to starboard, to avoid it. Anakin felt Obi-Wan's eyes on him, and sensed the Jedi Knight's admiration. He smirked, and suppressed the rush of pride he felt. _Focus on the destroyers_, he reminded himself. _You can see them...if you hate them_. He kept moving, letting his hatred for the Mandalorians grow. Their cloaking devices somehow rendered them invisible to instruments and to the naked eye, but he had something else on his side, something otherworldly. It was guiding him, showing him where they were, but he still didn't know exactly what it was, and he was not going to count on it lasting forever. _Everyone's luck runs out eventually_, he thought as a second Mandalorian destroyer dropped its cloak and began to rain turbolaser fire down on him. Only one of the bolts struck the _Phantom II_, but it jolted the ship harder than Anakin liked. He glanced down at his instrument panel, and winced. That one hit took a bigger bite out of the deflector shields than he expected, and it confirmed what he knew in the back of his head all along. Their only hope of survival was to make the jump to hyperspace. Anakin toggled the navicomputer, verified that the coordinates he'd entered before his untimely arrest had been saved, and nodded to Obi-Wan.

"See that lever?" Anakin asked. "Second one from the left?"

Obi-Wan studied the controls in front of him. "Yes!" he replied, reaching his hand out to touch it.

"Not yet!" Anakin barked. "There's another ship ahead."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "I sense it, too," he acknowledged. He remained still, waiting for Anakin to give the signal. Anakin maneuvered through what appeared to be more empty space. _I must have ruffled some feathers_, he thought. He could sense more destroyers closing in. The whales were calling to each other, and the gaps between them were narrowing rapidly. Anakin steered the ship into a dive, then up again, sensing a window of only a few hundred meters. The Mandalorians must have realized he was onto them. Dozens more began to deactivate their cloaks, prompting startled gasps from Padmé and Rieekan. Anakin smiled, both at the reactions of his friends, and the confusion and outrage he could sense from the Mandalorian destroyer crews. _Yeah_, he thought. _You're too slow to swat this fly._ The void was filled with enemy ships now, all firing wildly in the direction of the _Phantom II_.

"Ready?" Anakin called out to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan reached out toward the lever again and nodded. Anakin double-checked the navicomputer one more time. Everything appeared as it should. "Punch it!" he shouted.

Obi-Wan slid the lever forward. The distant stars no longer appeared as tiny pinpoints of light. They extruded themselves into countless white threads that seemed to leap toward the cockpit of the ship. The rays of starlight engulfed them, and the Mandalorian destroyers disappeared. Anakin smiled as the comforting blue tunnel of hyperspace swirled around him. _Tatooine, here we come,_ he thought.


	5. Chapter 5

V

Queen Breha groaned and rolled her head from side to side, finally regaining consciousness. Her muscles were painfully sore, especially the ones in her neck. Her head felt like it had been split by a hammer. She kept her eyes closed, knowing that if she opened them to the light, it would only make her headache worse. The last thing she remembered was a horrible nightmare: Alderaan invaded by Mandalorians, two Jedi Knights helping her to safety...Chief Ulgo's betrayal. Breha's jumbled memories suddenly became crystal-clear. The pain in her head and body was real. Chief Ulgo, the trusted leader of Aldera's security forces, had shot her. Breha's heart started pounding, and her eyes snapped open. She found herself sitting upright, with a harness buckled around her. She looked around the room, and although she could not recognize it, she knew she was aboard a ship. Ignoring the pain in her muscles and tendons, she reached up and unbuckled the harness. Keeping one hand on the seat cushion to steady herself, she rose shakily to her feet. She had never been stunned by a blaster before, and now she was certain she never wanted to experience it again. Ulgo's shot had burned the energy out of her muscles, like a full week of grueling exercise condensed into a millisecond. After a few deep breaths, she relaxed her grip on the seat cushion and stood up straight. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall man stepping into the room from the stern of the ship. Startled, she adjusted her feet to face him. Her legs wobbled, and she nearly buckled at the knees.

"Breha!" Bail gasped, seeing his wife's condition and lunging forward to catch her. Breha recognized her husband's voice, and she pushed herself to stand up again and embrace him.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Hyperspace," came the voice of a younger man from behind her.

Breha turned away from Bail's arms, and eyed this newcomer with suspicion. "Who are you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"This is Anakin Skywalker," Bail explained. "After Ulgo stunned you, he flew us out of the city, and right through the blockade."

"You make it sound so easy," Anakin muttered with a smirk.

A look of dismay crossed Breha's face. "I wish we could have stayed," she lamented. "Without us there to lead the resistance, our people will lose hope."

Hearing those words, Captain Rieekan spoke up. "Your Highness, if you'd been captured, there would be no hope at all."

"This is the better way," Bail agreed. "From Coruscant, we can rally both the Senate and the Jedi Order. The Republic will not tolerate this attack."

Breha sighed, still wishing there was more she could do for her people. "How long before we reach Coruscant?" she asked. All eyes shifted to Anakin.

"We're not going to Coruscant," he replied. "We're going to Tatooine."

"You can't take Her Royal Highness there!" Captain Rieekan shouted. "We need to get to Coruscant, now!"

Anakin felt his frustration building, but he kept it in check. Instead of yelling, he made his point with a firm, quiet voice. "You know," he said, "I'd be happy to lend _Her Royal Highness_ an escape pod. But in case you hadn't noticed, I used both of them to keep us all alive."

Obi-Wan perked up, suddenly reminded of the incredible skill the young man had displayed earlier. "We're grateful for that, Anakin," he interjected, stepping in front of Rieekan to defuse the situation. "But surely you realize how important it is that we get the Royal Family to safety. Couldn't you drop out of hyperspace, and set a new course?"

"Yeah, I could," Anakin replied flatly. "But I've got family who need me, and they're on Tatooine. I don't know how it works for royalty, but my family comes first."

"Do you know how many families _I'm_ responsible for?" Breha demanded angrily. "What do I say to them when they ask me why help didn't come sooner?"

Bail put a reassuring hand on his wife's shoulder, and glared at Anakin. The young pilot glared right back, tired of hiding his frustration.

"Hey, I don't owe you anything!" Anakin barked, pointing angrily. "You want to talk about being captured? Being held prisoner? I was in a cell when your planet was attacked. If it wasn't for this droid—" he lowered his hand to gesture toward R2-D2, "—that's where I'd be right now! If I owe something to anyone here, it's him!"

Anakin pressed his lips together, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. C-3PO happened to be standing next to R2-D2, and glanced down at the astromech droid.

"Well, he'll obviously listen to _you_," C-3PO said condescendingly. "_You_ think we should obey Her Royal Highness, don't you?"

R2-D2 rocked back and forth on his legs and hummed indecisively.

"Hardly a tie-breaking vote," C-3PO muttered, looking around the room at the others.

"It's _my_ ship," Anakin growled, stepping around the protocol droid. "I don't put things to a vote." With that, he walked off toward the stern of the _Phantom II_.

"Artoo?" Anakin called, without looking over his shoulder or breaking his stride. The astromech chirped in response. "I'm going to need some help back here, if you don't mind." A third leg descended from the bottom of R2-D2's cylindrical body, and he rolled after his adoptive master. C-3PO shuffled alongside him for a short distance, just long enough to get the last word.

"Did you really set him free?" C-3PO said incredulously. "He was locked up for a reason! Who knows what crimes he's committed?"

R2-D2 gave a nonchalant response, and kept rolling.

"Well, _I_ think it was a mistake to let him out of his cell," C-3PO huffed. R2-D2 emitted a low whistle, as if reminding the protocol droid of their uncertain fate had they remained on Alderaan.

"Oh, really," C-3PO said dismissively, "How bad could it be?"

By that time, Alderaan was light years behind the _Phantom II_. The smoke over Aldera had cleared, and the sounds of blaster fire and exploding shells had faded. With the conclusion of combat operations in and around the capital city, a massive celebration was about to begin. Mandalorian MTTs had cleared away much of the rubble from the surface streets, and cordoned off those that were still navigable. The common people had been forced out of their homes and businesses, and lined up on the broad sidewalks, shoulder-to-shoulder. Some of them sobbed, or covered their mouths with their hands, but they moved as directed. Mandalorian soldiers stood on every rooftop and every balcony, surveying the crowds below through their distinctive green and red helmets. More soldiers on STAPs zipped along the parade route, ensuring that no one stepped out of line. The Mandalorians had dreamed of this moment for twenty years, and they would not tolerate defiance. This was a triumph, and they would accept nothing less than the total humiliation of the conquered.

More sobs could be heard among the crowd as the first parade formation marched into view, followed by columns of AATs. Scyk fighters flew overhead, in perfect formation, their engines momentarily drowning out all other noise. The parade route took the Mandalorians across the entire city, past the Royal Palace, to the wide open landing pad beyond. By now, the only sign of the Republic cruiser ever being there was a black scorch mark on the duracrete. The soldiers ignored it, marching in their perfect rows until they covered the landing pad from one edge to the other. When the legions finally came to a halt, the AATs spread out, idling quietly around the perimeter. The Scyk fighters circled high and wide, making the whine of their engines barely audible to those on the ground. All attention was focused on the solitary ship at the far end of the landing pad. It was just over fifty meters long, with wings that rotated skyward as it landed. Once it settled, with its triangular profile and vertical wings, it nearly resembled the head of a guard dog with cropped ears. This ship was a _Kom'rk_-class fighter/transport, otherwise known as the _Gauntlet_. It had been built to the exacting specifications of the Mandalorians' supreme leader, who stepped confidently onto the nose of the craft, surveying his legions with pride.

He had come a long way since the last war, having served Mandalore honorably until the very day the ceasefire was announced. He remembered the transport that brought him home after the Treaty of Aldera was signed. The memory of that silent ride, full of men with distant stares in their eyes, haunted him far more than his memories of combat. They were traumatized, all of them—but not by death, or entrails, or children's squeals. Their upbringing had desensitized them to such things. They were traumatized by the one thing Mandalorian culture had not prepared them for: defeat. They stared at the bulkheads across from their seats, eyes glassy, dreading what awaited them when the transport landed. He, and they, would watch the disarmament of their people, the censorship of their media, and the collapse of their economy. His lip curled as he remembered the agents of the Republic who enforced their treaty of retribution against his people. After a few unexplained disappearances, those agents quickly learned to walk the streets of Mandalore with bodyguards at all times. The bodyguards chosen for the task all had one thing in common: they all wore lightsabers on their belts. After a time, he made a point to look them in the eye whenever he saw them. Without exception, the look he saw in their eyes was one of sorrow and regret. _They're with the Republic, and they don't even believe this is right,_ he remembered thinking. _They're afraid to say it, and we're blacklisted if we say it. But it's the truth. Someday, I'll make them say it._ It was that thought that motivated him to quietly organize his people. That thought drove him to create a secret society that called itself the Death Watch.

Pre Vizsla smiled as he stood atop the _Gauntlet_ and reminisced on the rise of the Death Watch. In its infancy, he instructed every member to be fully subservient to Republic authorities. He secretly trained them how to denounce their ancestry, and the violent ideals of their forefathers, without any sarcasm or change in demeanor. He took his time with them. Many tears were shed, and many bottles broken in anger. But as heartbreaking as it was, he always took the time to explain his vision to his countrymen. In the end, whether man or woman, young or old, they all understood why it had to be done. As it turned out, he was right. The sporadic attacks against Republic agents tapered off, as did the insults and curses once hurled at them from every storefront and street corner. Placated, the Republic recalled many of its enforcers, and allowed Mandalore a slightly longer leash. Vizsla continued expanding the Death Watch, training more and more followers in secret. As they grew, they started to infiltrate the regime of Duchess Satine Kryze, the pacifist Mandalorian ruler installed by the Republic. They gained access to every building, every computer network, and every secret file. No one from without noticed the shapes they absentmindedly traced with fingers or feet to identify one another, or the short but distinct patterns they quietly tapped every so often. Had the Death Watch been exposed at this point, as it was climbing out of its crib, the Republic and their Jedi guardians could have easily crushed it. Incredibly, though, there was not a single act of disloyalty to the movement or its leader.

Emboldened by his supporters, and eager to return Mandalore to its rightful place in the sun, Pre Vizsla took his boldest step yet. He called on one of his earliest and most steadfast supporters, an idealistic young woman named Bo-Katan Kryze. He knew Bo-Katan believed in Mandalore's resurgence so strongly that she would kill for it—even if the target was her own sister, the Duchess herself. Within hours of Vizsla issuing the order, news broke of the accidental death of Duchess Kryze. Bo-Katan delivered a stirring eulogy for her sister, lamenting the fact that Duchess Kryze had died without an heir, and issued an urgent plea against any power struggle that would expose Mandalore to the ravages of yet another war. The Mandalorians understood her coded language perfectly. They accepted her call for both the dissolution of the monarchy, and a planet-wide vote to elect a new government. Overnight, Pre Vizsla was lifted up by his people, raised to the highest executive office in the land. As his first act, he secretly began building the clone army that now stood victorious before him.

Pre Vizsla looked up, relishing the cool breeze that ran across his face. The breeze carried a marvelous sound to his ears. His troops were singing "Vode An," or "Brothers All," an ancient Mandalorian war chant. The cherished song was the perfect complement to his reminiscing, and it put him in the perfect state of mind to address his men. When the last verse was finished, he raised his right hand to quiet them. He held his helmet under his left arm, so its built-in commlink would carry his voice to every Mandalorian assembled.

"Twenty years ago," he announced, "our beloved Mandalore was occupied by the Galactic Republic. Our people were plundered and exploited. Our very future was taken away from us."

An uncomfortable silence hung over the field. "Every true Mandalorian wanted to fight," Vizsla continued, "but they couldn't. They couldn't, because their royalty signed a treaty that tied their hands behind their backs! And they signed it in _that building_!"

The knee-length cape over Vizsla's right shoulder fluttered as he thrust his arm straight out. He pointed over the heads of his men, at the Royal Palace. Not a single head turned to look. They knew the story. Vizsla lowered his arm. He could almost feel the rage in their souls now.

"My fellow Mandalorians," Vizsla growled, "I promised each of you that I was going to make things right, and I'm going to keep that promise. With the victory you've achieved today, the Royal Family of Alderaan will have no choice but to sign a new treaty—one that sets Mandalore free!"

Vizsla thrust his helmet up into the air with his left hand, signaling for his troops to do the same. As one, they pulled their helmets off and lifted them high, cheering for their leader. Their faces were not all identical, as Vizsla had selected several dozen Mandalorians to be cloned for his army. They all had what the Death Watch considered to be perfect genetic profiles: lean, athletic builds, light complexions, and flawless senses. Their haircuts varied, as did the scars from their harsh training. Still, an inspection of any regiment would reveal the same handful of faces, over and over. As the Mandalorians' war cry echoed across the city, Vizsla smiled and lowered his helmet. Again, his legions imitated him. The roar died down, and they stared up at him with adoration.

"I'm going to settle accounts with the House of Organa," he said, nodding toward the palace. "Some of you will be sent to wipe out the last pockets of resistance here on Alderaan...and some of you will go on to reclaim our colonies in other parts of the galaxy. Wherever you go, know that Mandalore will cherish everything you conquer! Even in death, you will always stand victorious! Hail to the victors!"

"Hail! Hail! Hail!" they chanted in response, thrusting their helmets upward with each repetition. On the third shout, Bo-Katan Kryze herself stepped forward, taking Vizsla's place on the nose of the _Gauntlet_. She had a youthful appearance, with short, red hair and a lightly freckled face. Her green eyes narrowed, and she straightened her body to project her voice as far as possible.

"Hail to the victors!" she shouted. "Hail Vizsla!"

The troops responded in kind. "Hail Vizsla!" they cried out. "Hail Vizsla! Hail Vizsla!"

In one smooth motion, Kryze donned her helmet, and the assembled formations did the same. The commanding officers, wearing their mustard-yellow shoulder plates, led the orderly procession away from the landing pad. As narrow aisles opened up between the regiments, Kryze caught up to Vizsla on the ground. He spun toward her before she could open her mouth to speak.

"How did the Royal Family escape?" he growled, an accusatory glare in his eyes. "Our strategy was perfect!"

Kryze jutted out her chin defensively. "As was our timing, Lord Vizsla," she assured him, "Once our agent neutralized their shields, boots were on the ground within ten minutes. In less than one hour, we took the palace and the hangar. The pilots surrendered before they could get a single ship off the ground."

"So what happened?" Vizsla hissed.

"A _Barloz_-class medium freighter launched from a separate location. Two Scyk fighters initiated a pursuit, but..." Kryze blinked several times, knowing how foolish her next words would sound, "...they went down in the mountains."

Vizsla gritted his teeth. "A freighter took down two _fighters_?"

"There's more, my Lord," Kryze said. "Inside the palace..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes flickered over Vizsla's shoulder. An older man was approaching on foot, with a squad of bodyguards in tow. They wore uniforms of a different cut, but they were not enemies; their blaster rifles were slung and their body language was relaxed. Kryze recognized them immediately, just as Vizsla did when he looked over his shoulder at them.

"Governor Tarkin!" Vizsla greeted the older man with a pleasant smile, showing no sign of his previous aggravation. "We were just about to take a tour of the Royal Palace. Walk with us, won't you?"

The corner of Tarkin's mouth twitched faintly. It was perhaps the closest thing to a smile he could muster. Although Tarkin was only about ten years senior to Vizsla, he had the sour demeanor of a much older man. His graying hair was combed back away from his forehead, drawing attention to his widow's peak and receding hairline. He had a long, beak-like nose, and pale blue eyes set deep into their sockets. These features, taken with his pronounced cheekbones and thin lips, gave his face an unsettling, corpse-like appearance.

"The very reason I'm here," Tarkin replied coldly. "I trust your men have secured my compensation?"

"Under heavy guard as we speak," Vizsla confirmed, as they strolled toward the palace together. "Every museum, every art gallery, every piece of history that can be picked up and moved. It's all yours."

"I'm pleased to hear it," Tarkin said, now with less of a chill in his voice. "Yet I understand the entire planet is not firmly within your control."

Vizsla felt anger and embarrassment bubbling inside him, but his expression did not change. He'd endured far worse.

"Fear not, my friend," he said confidently. "A handful of cities managed to activate their shields sooner than we anticipated...but they'll soon be shattered by the weight of Mandalorian iron."

"I'm told it's more than just a handful," Tarkin countered. "And I'll need the spoils from all of them, as we agreed."

Vizsla breathed deeply, and kept his eyes on the palace ahead. His alliance with Tarkin was fragile enough; he had no desire to break it by telling the man what he truly thought of him.

"You'll have your spoils, as promised," Vizsla swore. "Trillions of credits' worth."

"I didn't ask for credits," Tarkin said. "There are dozens of systems itching to secede from the Republic, and many of them are led by...like-minded private collectors. It will be difficult to rally them to our cause while Alderaan still resists."

"Our cause..." Vizsla murmured. By this time, they'd reached the steps of the Royal Palace. Vizsla looked up at the grand entryway, and marveled at how far he'd come. Mandalore was on the verge of retaking its rightful place in the galaxy. _That_ was his cause. Tarkin, no doubt, held his native star system of Eriadu in equally high regard. Vizsla glanced over at his ally as they ascended the stairs together.

"We've discussed the idea of a Confederacy of Independent Systems many times, Governor," Vizsla said, "and soon, it will be a reality. I owe you a debt of gratitude for concealing our fleet from Republic inspectors for all these years. And I know you're eager for your friends in the Senate to join us. Give me the time I need to secure Alderaan, and I will deliver your treasure to you—_all_ of it."

They came to the top of the staircase, where Vizsla could see his soldiers flanking the open palace doors. He saluted them as he approached, and walked through the entryway. Vizsla's eyes were drawn to the solitary Mandalorian clone lying motionless on the marble floor, his armor scorched by blaster fire.

"How many did we lose?" he asked Kryze.

"Two more over here, my Lord," she answered. Vizsla followed her across the chamber, where two more soldiers lay dead. These ones had no blaster injuries, but their armor looked like it had been cleaved with a white-hot blade. Vizsla's lip curled.

"Jedi," he growled. Kryze nodded once in affirmation.

"Only one more casualty," she said. "This way."

Vizsla and Tarkin followed Kryze all the way to Ulgo's body. Vizsla hissed through his teeth when he saw that it, too, bore the distinctive mark of a lightsaber.

"One of our best agents," Vizsla said gruffly, to no one in particular. "Raised here, with no ties to Mandalore. They never suspected him." He shook his head angrily. "He planted the charges, but he couldn't deliver the Royal Family. The Jedi were too much for him."

"Come, my Lord," Kryze beckoned. "This might make up for it."

Intrigued, Vizsla followed her down another corridor. They rounded a corner, and he saw a squad of clones standing around a huge pile of rubble. They had their carbines pointed down at the base of the pile, and were staring intently down their sights at something he could not see. As he caught up to them, he saw the reason for their guarded postures. The head, arms, and upper torso of a man were protruding from the base of the pile. It appeared as if the marble had collapsed, pinning the man's legs and hips. The man had a graying beard, and a traditional warrior-style topknot. His bib-front shirt was stained with dirt and sweat, but no blood. By some miracle, the man was still conscious.

"A Jedi Knight, I believe," Kryze announced. "He wounded one of ours, back there." She pointed behind them, then continued. "The others used their rockets to take him down."

"He'll have a lightsaber," Vizsla warned.

"We've swept the corridor, my Lord," the clone squad leader rasped. "He had it when we pinned him, but it's not here now. Probably buried in the rubble."

Vizsla nodded. "Find it," he ordered.

"Yes, my Lord," the squad leader replied. "Shall we stun him first?"

Vizsla made eye contact with his weakened adversary. Instantly, both men knew the other was a veteran. Vizsla's lip curled.

"He's a Jedi Knight," Vizsla said. "Hit him twice."

The Mandalorian took one step toward Qui-Gon, and pointed his carbine down at the pinned Jedi. With his thumb, he verified the weapon was set to stun. Then, he pulled the trigger, unleashing enough energy to incapacitate a Wookiee. Qui-Gon's body twitched, and his vision went black. The Mandalorian pulled the trigger again, just as Vizsla ordered—a precaution against the legendary endurance of the Jedi. It was satisfying, but unnecessary; the first stun blast had done its work. Qui-Gon was completely unconscious.

Satisfied that the Jedi wouldn't cause his men any more trouble, Vizsla turned around to face Tarkin.

"If you'll excuse me, Governor," he said calmly, "I have to contact our mutual friend."

Tarkin's eyebrows twitched with intrigue. "The Sith Lord," Tarkin replied matter-of-factly. "Yes, it would be wise to keep him informed."

Vizsla smiled again, and nodded toward Kryze. They walked back toward the palace entrance at a brisk pace. Tarkin lingered for just a moment, looking down on the half-buried Jedi without a hint of pity in his eyes. _If you knew what was coming_, Tarkin thought, _you would wish for death_.


	6. Chapter 6

VI

Anakin sat on the footlocker in front of his bunk, with his feet on the deck. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and spoke to R2-D2 with hushed excitement.

"You still have it?" he asked.

R2-D2 rolled forward, and paused within arm's reach. A blue panel on top of the droid's dome-shaped head popped open, exposing the flat end of a metallic, baton-sized cylinder. Anakin reached forward and lifted it out, mesmerized. Deep down, after everything he'd learned about his companions, he knew what it was. Still, this was his first chance to examine it closely, and he wanted to hold it in his hands to be sure. He turned it over, running his thumb along the chrome-like finish, and recalled how it had come to him in the first place.

There he stood, at the bottom of a marble staircase on Alderaan, trying to figure out how to ascend without leaving his astromech friend behind. Before he could make a decision, there was a loud blast from above, followed by a wall of air that rolled down the spiral staircase, nearly knocking him off his feet. He heard panicked yelling from the top of the stairs, just out of his sight. As he craned his neck to peer up the stairs, the lightsaber had come rolling down toward him. _Tink! Tink! Tink! _It hit the floor at the base of the stairs, rolled just a little further, and stopped. Without thinking, Anakin instinctively picked it up. Before he could so much as glance at it, he'd heard more voices from the top of the staircase. He quickly held it out toward the droid, who concealed it effortlessly. Now, for the first time since Obi-Wan lost his lightsaber, Anakin had enough privacy to examine it for himself.

Anakin's thumb hovered over the red button near the blade emitter at the end of the hilt. He had no doubt it would activate the blade if he touched it. His eyes traced a line about a meter beyond the emitter, calculating whether or not he would not cut through anything if he pressed down on the button. As he wrestled with the temptation to turn the Jedi weapon on, there was a knock at his cabin door. Anakin lifted his weight off the footlocker and opened the lid. He dropped the lightsaber inside, and quickly sat back down, snapping the latch back into place in the nick of time. Anakin glanced around his cabin one last time, verifying that nothing looked out of place. Satisfied, he reached over and opened the door. Obi-Wan stood there, his expression hopeful.

"I thought I might have a word with you about what happened earlier," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, mildly annoyed. He had no inclination to relive his argument with the Organa family. "Our course is set," he said wearily. "I'm not going—"

"No, no," Obi-Wan interrupted. "Not that. I was referring to our escape from Alderaan."

Anakin was puzzled, but he could sense that something pressing was on Obi-Wan's mind. He nodded his head to one side, gesturing for Obi-Wan to come in. By this time, R2-D2 had rolled to the far corner of the cabin, out of the way. Anakin scooted himself backward, and sat on his bunk, offering the footlocker to Obi-Wan as a seat. He was careful not to allow his eyes to linger on the footlocker too long.

"What about it?" Anakin asked casually.

Obi-Wan took a seat on a footlocker, just as Anakin had expected. "What do you know about the Jedi Knights?" he asked.

Anakin shrugged. "They serve the Republic. They're...advisors. Peacekeepers."

Obi-Wan nodded, but remained silent, as if he expected more.

"Their Order is very old," Anakin continued, "and very powerful. People say their powers are supernatural."

Obi-Wan chuckled softly. "That's one word for it. Anakin, I'm sure you've guessed by now that I belong to the Jedi Order."

Anakin nodded, deliberately keeping his eyes on Obi-Wan so they would not wander over toward his hidden lightsaber.

"As a Jedi Knight," Obi-Wan explained, "I've spent my entire life training in the ways of the Force."

"The Force," Anakin said flatly. It was not a question, but an expression of skepticism.

"Yes," Obi-Wan confirmed. "You've heard of it?"

"I've heard _stories_," Anakin said. "Some people swear they've seen Jedi levitate off the ground, or move things without touching them...stuff like that."

Obi-Wan nodded seriously. "Do you believe the stories?" he asked.

Anakin winced. He could sense that Obi-Wan meant well, so he chose his words carefully. "I think there's a lot of distraction involved," he said. "Sleight of hand, you know?"

Obi-Wan frowned.

"Look," Anakin quickly added, "There are plenty of magicians out there. Card tricks, disappearing acts...some of them are _really_ convincing! I think people just...see what they want to see."

"I'll tell you what I saw earlier," Obi-Wan said. "I saw you launch an escape pod from a moving ship, into another moving ship, two separate times. You recognized command ships that were invisible to the naked eye. You changed course to avoid them, where any other pilot would have crashed right into them. Did you do all that with sleight of hand?"

Anakin couldn't bring himself to look Obi-Wan in the eye. The Jedi had a point. His mind was racing now. He couldn't think of a way to reconcile their extraordinary escape with his existing world view.

"Don't you think if I was using the Force to do all that, I would know it?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not necessarily. That's the beauty of the Force, Anakin! It's all around us, in each and every moment. You don't consciously think about it, any more than you think about the air you breathe, or the gravity that keeps your feet on the ground...but it's there, all the same. The Force is within all of us, not just the Jedi."

"Then anyone could do what I just did," Anakin argued.

"No," Obi-Wan said, leaning toward him with an intense look in his eyes. "Some Jedi train for years, and can barely stack one rock on top of another. What you did showed amazing strength. With training, I think you could master the ways of the Force. You could be one of the greatest Jedi in the galaxy."

"You think I should be someone's Jedi apprentice?" Anakin replied.

"Padawan learners, they're called," Obi-Wan said with a smirk. He rose to his feet. "And after what I saw today, I would be honored to train you myself."

Anakin's jaw dropped.

"Think it over," Obi-Wan said, heading for the door. Anakin respectfully stood as he exited, nodding with bewilderment. _Could it be?_ he wondered. _Everything that just happened...it couldn't have been blind luck. Maybe it really was the Force_. He stared at R2-D2 and pondered his next move. He would have to keep Obi-Wan's lightsaber hidden, at least for now. He had no intention of holding onto it forever, but the question of how he would return it suddenly seemed much more complicated. _I'll cross that bridge when I come to it_, he thought.

All was quiet aboard the _Phantom II_ for the next few hours. When the time came to drop out of hyperspace, Anakin walked from his cabin to the cockpit. He did not make any attempt to speak to the others, who were resting as well as they could in the ship's common room. He took his seat, and studied the navicomputer display. Once Tatooine was sufficiently close, he reached over the controls and pulled back on the appropriate lever. The cloudy blue tunnel of hyperspace disappeared, replaced by the void of ordinary space. Anakin kept the nose of his ship pointed at a tiny golden-brown orb in the distance. It grew larger and larger, expanding beyond his field of view in seconds. Anakin had detailed maps of Tatooine's surface. Before the _Phantom II_ entered the desert world's dry atmosphere, he had already adjusted his course to approach a set of predetermined coordinates. He exhaled softly as his ship continued its descent. Before long, he would be back in familiar territory.

The grating voice of a droid came over the comm, jarring Anakin out of his relaxed state."This is Mos Eisley Control Tower," it said. "Please identify."

Anakin toggled the comm to reply. "Mos Eisley, this is _Phantom II_, requesting clearance to land," he responded.

"Just the one ship?" the droid asked, apparently prompted by the numeral in the vessel's name.

"Just the one," Anakin replied.

"Cleared for landing," said the droid. "Docking Bay 38."

By the time the _Phantom II_ touched down in the docking bay, Tatooine's twin suns were low in the sky. It was late afternoon, and the scorching temperature had not yet given way to the cool of night. Anakin knew what to expect, but he wasn't sure about the others. As he approached the common room to address them, he overhead Obi-Wan's voice.

"Your Highness, it is imperative that you remain with the ship," he was saying. Apparently, Queen Breha was itching to find an alternate ride to Coruscant.

"I agree with Master Kenobi," Captain Rieekan added. "It's too dangerous out there. I'll go see what this place has to offer in the way of transports."

"And trustworthy pilots," Bail reminded him.

By now, Anakin had heard enough. Ordinarily, their words would have angered him, but something had changed since his talk with Obi-Wan. Now, he felt humility and shame. After all they'd been through, he wanted to play the gracious host. He stepped around the corner so they could all see him, and the conversation stopped immediately. Anakin bit his lip, and looked across the room to Obi-Wan.

"You don't have to worry about finding another pilot," Anakin said. He shifted his gaze to Queen Organa and her husband. "And Captain Rieekan is right," he continued. "It _is_ extremely dangerous out there." He was met with looks of surprise, and ignored them. He wasn't about to take them to Coruscant—at least not right away.

"Just give me one day," he said, raising his index finger for emphasis. "I'll see to my family, and we'll take off tomorrow night. Straight to Coruscant—no more side trips."

Naberrie and Rieekan looked at Queen Breha expectantly. Bail squeezed her hand and nodded to reassure her. She frowned, clearly still upset that they were not leaving sooner, but she finally nodded in agreement.

"Tomorrow night," she repeated. Anakin tapped his fist once on the bulkhead, as if to simulate a gavel. He backed out of the doorway and made for the boarding ramp. The sound of footsteps clanging on the deck coaxed a sigh out of him. He knew it was Obi-Wan.

"I told you, it's dangerous," Anakin warned, "even for a Jedi Knight."

"And yet, there you go," Obi-Wan countered, "alone."

Anakin toggled the control for the boarding ramp, and turned to face Obi-Wan as it lowered. He knew there was a reason the Jedi was being so persistent, but he had a pressing need to contact his loved ones. The question of whether he could make the commitment to be a Padawan learner would have to wait.

"I know this town," Anakin said confidently. "It's easy for one to stay out of sight. Harder for two."

"I suppose the three of us will just have to manage," said an equally confident female voice. Anakin and Obi-Wan both looked astonished as Padmé appeared beside them.

"Secretary Naberrie," Obi-Wan said, clearly taken aback by her presence.

"What are you doing?" Anakin asked, keeping his tone as polite as possible.

"Keeping you honest," Padmé smirked. "The Queen is still a little nervous about you. She wants me to check in when we get to...wherever it is we're going."

Padmé held up a Hush-98 commlink, and shrugged innocently. Anakin paused, his thoughts of protest shoved aside by her confident attitude and beautiful figure. He gestured to the ramp behind him, which was firmly settled against the dusty floor of the docking bay.

"Let's go," he said.

Anakin considered himself lucky that the walk across Mos Eisley was uneventful. He was familiar with the desert heat, but he looked back every few seconds to ensure that Obi-Wan and Padmé did not succumb to it. Their perseverance was admirable. He could see them sweating, and squinting their eyes against the harsh light, but they did not utter a single complaint. The group stayed close to regular pedestrian traffic, weaving around random piles of droppings in the streets, and avoiding the temptation of shaded alcoves and alleys. All three could instinctively sense the inherent danger there, made all the more obvious by the occasional humanoid silhouette flitting in and out of sight.

At last, the group reached its destination: a fenced yard, lined with rows of private storage sheds. Anakin's head swiveled back and forth as he went up to the gate. Armed guards stood on the other side of the fence, but they were there to protect the valuables stored within. They would not lift a finger to help someone being assaulted on the outside, even if it was right up against the fence itself. In a more civilized system, their attitudes might be different, but here, lessons were learned the hard way. This very yard had been targeted before for the wealth it contained, and the ruse that got the criminals in was a staged assault that preyed on the guards' empathy and drew them out. For the owner of the yard, the solution was to hire guards with no empathy. Anakin kept that in mind as he approached the keypad built into the gate, and punched in his private code, covering the keys with his alternate hand. The keypad chirped softly, and he swung the gate open, waved Obi-Wan and Padmé inside, and swung it shut just as quickly.

Once they were safely inside, Anakin walked to his personal garage, and entered another code into the keypad alongside the door. The garage door opened from the middle, with the top half rising into the ceiling, and the bottom half disappearing into a slot in the ground. This, too, was a security feature. Every garage door in the yard was blaster-resistant, and if there was an attack, they could retreat into the unit, close the door almost completely, and fire from a kneeling position. The only target presented to the attacker would be a tiny horizontal slit, with the attacker himself stuck out in the open. Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan or Padmé understood the need for such heavy security as he stepped into his garage. _Perhaps if Alderaan was more accustomed to violence_, Anakin thought, _the Mandalorians wouldn't have taken it so quickly_. He pushed that thought out of his head, and extended his hand toward a capsule-shaped vehicle in the center of the garage. For the moment, it was covered with a tarp. He glanced at his companions, eager to see their reactions when he unveiled it. With a flourish, he pulled the tarp away, revealing an X-34 landspeeder in near-perfect condition. The body of the speeder was orange with red accents, with matching panels on each of its three turbine engines. Every surface, from the seats to the repulsor vents, was polished and clean.

"Master Kenobi, Madame Secretary. I present my second most prized possession," Anakin said proudly. Padmé nodded politely, but said nothing.

"This should be quite an exciting ride," Obi-Wan remarked sarcastically. Anakin glowered, but only for an instant. Being reunited with his landspeeder brought back memories of the hours he'd spent maintaining it—hours well spent, as far as he was concerned.

"Factory model will do 250 an hour, but I've put a lot of work into her," Anakin bragged. "She'll do 330 over open ground."

"That sounds fast," Padmé said, in a monotone voice that suggested she had no interest in reaching such speeds.

"Fast enough to reach the homestead before nightfall," Anakin confirmed. The shadows outside the garage were growing longer as the suns began to set. "That reminds me..." he murmured. He turned his back on the speeder, and opened a crate resting against the wall. He withdrew a blaster pistol with a black finish from the crate. Keeping the muzzle pointed at the ground, he examined it, wiped a speck of dust off the barrel with his left thumb, and snapped it into the holster on his right hip. As he shut the crate and hopped into the driver's seat, Padmé glared disapprovingly at him.

"Do you always need to carry a blaster?" she asked.

Anakin responded with a question of his own. "They don't have Sand People where you come from, do they?" he asked. Padmé narrowed her eyes slightly, and shook her head. Anakin responded with a casual half-shrug. "Sounds like a nice place," he remarked. He gestured to the seat beside him, and Padmé took it. Obi-Wan clambered aboard, perched behind both of them. He was slightly elevated, so his face and hair would not be protected by the windshield, but he did not see any other choice. Once all three were aboard, Anakin fired up the speeder, and they coasted out of the garage on a cushion of air.

The Lars homestead consisted of a loose grid of moisture vaporators, spread out over several kilometers of desert. The only residential structure that protruded above the ground was a small dome that served as an entryway. The other buildings were buried deep below, to shelter them from Tatooine's extreme heat. By the time Anakin saw the little dome, the sky was already a dusky orange color. One of Tatooine's suns was already touching the horizon, and the other was less than an hour behind. Anakin felt relief wash over him as he slowed to a stop beside the dome. _We made it_, he thought. As the trio lifted themselves out of the speeder, which now boasted a fine coat of dust, a burly man with short, brown hair stepped out from the dome. A woman close to his age, also a brunette, stepped out behind him. Anakin recognized them both immediately.

"Owen!" he grinned. "Beru!" He extended his arms, as if expecting a hug from one or both. Beru looked at Owen, as if to prompt him to speak, but otherwise, neither of them moved. Anakin stopped in his tracks, and the smile fell from his face as he saw Owen's stern glare.

"I...got your message," Anakin said nervously. "I know you said it was urgent. I meant to come home sooner, but you wouldn't believe—"

"Save it," Owen cut him off.

Anakin looked back at Obi-Wan and Padmé, hoping for some kind of cue to guide him, but they were just as perplexed as he was.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Dad died," said Owen.

Anakin's shoulders slumped. Cliegg Lars was Owen's biological father, not his, but he'd been raised by Cliegg, and loved him as a father. He could hardly believe that Cliegg was gone, but that was not the sort of thing Owen would joke about. Owen wasn't the sort to joke about anything, for that matter.

"H-how did it happen?" Anakin stammered. Owen walked back into the house, scuffing the dirt as he went. Beru gestured for Anakin to follow.

"Bring your friends," she said softly. "Dinner's ready."

The Lars' dining room was underground, with an open archway along one side that allowed the cool night air to waft in. The group quickly seated itself at the dining room table while Beru set plates in front of each of them. Obi-Wan and Padmé both indicated a willingness to help, but Beru quietly shushed them and refused to allow it. Once Beru was seated, she studied Owen carefully. He had his hands in front of his mouth, with his fingers interlaced. He was obviously fuming.

"Anakin," Beru said, somewhat awkwardly, "would you care to introduce your friends?"

Owen lowered his hands, and looked at Anakin with an ominously blank expression on his face.

"Mmhmm," Anakin coughed. "Yes, of course. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi Knight," he began. Owen's cheek twitched. Anakin hadn't mentioned it when he spoke to Obi-Wan before, but it was Owen who had influenced his views of the Jedi. Anakin had also failed to mention that Owen's views contained far more colorful language.

"And this is Padmé Naberrie, from Alderaan," Anakin concluded, leaving out her formal title to prevent her security from being compromised.

"They work for Hondo, too?" Owen asked gruffly.

"No!" Anakin quickly replied.

"Who's Hondo?" Obi-Wan asked.

"He didn't tell you?" Owen blurted out, gesturing toward Anakin with his knife. "Anakin's other half. A pirate captain. He thinks of himself as the best there is, too."

"Not anymore," Anakin said quietly. "Hondo's dead, Owen."

Owen stopped chewing the food already in his mouth, and stared intently at Anakin. "When?" he demanded sternly.

"What?" Anakin asked, feigning innocence. He could see where the conversation was going, and he already felt guilty for what he would soon have to confess.

"When...did your pirate boss...die?" Owen said, more angrily this time.

"A few days ago," Anakin confessed. Obi-Wan, Padmé, and Beru were all watching him silently. "Don't look at me like that," he pleaded. "I didn't do it."

His words had no effect. They knew he wasn't telling them everything, and he could sense them growing more suspicious. _This is it, then_, Anakin thought. _I'd rather have them disappointed in me than think I'm a murderer_.

"Fine," he said at last, setting down his utensils. He pushed his plate away and sat up straight. The entire table would hear his confession.

"We picked up a load, bound for Alderaan, and jumped to lightspeed for a few hours. I found him in his cabin, cold to the touch."

Anakin gulped and closed his eyes for a moment. Hondo Ohnaka might have been a career criminal, but he was also a mentor, and a good friend. Discovering his body was not a pleasant memory.

"I changed course. I took him back to Florrum, so his old crew could bury him. That's why I was late."

Anakin looked his adoptive brother in the eye. "I'm sorry, Owen," he said.

"Sorry doesn't cut it," Owen growled, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. "You weren't here for dad. We had a ceremony for him, right here," Owen nodded over his own shoulder, indicating the family plot outside. "I kept watching the sky, thinking you would make it at the last minute. But you chose that crooked gangster over your family!"

Beru reached out, gently putting her hand on Owen's arm to calm him. Anakin jumped to his feet, bumping the table and rattling the dishes.

"How was I supposed to know?" he yelled. "All you said was you needed me here! You didn't say why!"

Owen threw his hands up, allowing his utensils to clatter onto the floor. "You wanted me to break the news with a damn hologram?" he shouted. "Is that what you wanted?"

Obi-Wan looked back and forth between the two younger men, his mind racing as he tried to think of some way to restore the peace. It was no use. Even if the words came to him, he knew better than to inject himself into such a sensitive family matter.

"Well, it doesn't make any difference now!" Anakin shouted back. He stormed out of the dining room, disappearing into the murky darkness of the courtyard.

"I'm...very sorry," Obi-Wan said, rising cautiously from the table. He bowed deferentially toward Owen and Beru. Beru gave a faint, sympathetic nod. Owen stared straight ahead, his eyes practically burning a hole into the wall. Obi-Wan excused himself and followed Anakin out into the dark. Beru glanced at Padmé, and shifted her eyes toward the kitchen area, suggesting that Padmé should follow. Padmé recognized the subtle gesture, and nodded. She helped Beru gather the dishes, and they stepped out together, leaving Owen to stew alone.

Anakin found his way to Cliegg's gravestone, at the very edge of the house lights, and dropped to his knees. Tears were welling up in his eyes. He blinked a few times to clear them away, but it was not enough. He had to raise his arm and wipe his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He looked up at the clear, starry sky, wishing to see Cliegg looking down on him with a forgiving smile. As he silently cursed himself for his failure, he could hear the crunch of boots on the dirt behind him. Without turning his head to look, he knew it was Obi-Wan. The Jedi stopped beside Anakin, and knelt respectfully.

"Don't say anything," Anakin hissed.

Obi-Wan lowered his chin to his chest, closed his eyes, and reached out with the Force. _I wasn't going to_, he thought. He remained by Anakin's side, silently meditating, calling on the Force to calm them both.

Meanwhile, in the home's underground kitchen, Beru washed the dishes while Padmé stood by, emptyhanded. Padmé had offered to help, but again, Beru had refused to allow it.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," said Beru. "I'd rather have met under happier circumstances."

"It's all right," Padmé replied. "I'd be upset, too."

Beru bit her lip and nodded. It was abundantly clear that Cliegg's death was still weighing heavily on her. "Anakin has been a part of this family for so long," she mused. "His parents were killed when he was just a toddler—long before I met Owen. Cliegg raised Anakin as his own son, no different from Owen."

"Were they close?" Padmé asked. "Anakin and Owen, I mean."

"When they were younger," Beru nodded. "They grew apart when Anakin...fell in with a bad crowd."

Padmé could see that Beru was choosing her words carefully. Each time Beru paused, she leaned past Padmé to see if Owen would react. He remained still, apparently just out of earshot.

"Anakin joined that pirate gang as a navigator on one of their spice freighters," Beru explained. "He would disappear for months, and come back with more credits than I've ever seen before. Cliegg never bothered to ask questions. He needed the money to support the farm."

Beru looked at the floor in disappointment, perhaps wishing she had spoken out earlier. Padmé nodded understandingly.

"What happened to Cliegg?" Padmé asked.

"After Anakin left—the last time—Cliegg went into Mos Eisley. He was...attacked. Owen found him. He still hasn't told me exactly what he saw."

At this, Owen loudly pushed his seat against the wall, and stormed out of the dining room. Beru frowned, realizing too late that he was able to overhear their conversation after all.

Anakin and Obi-wan heard the rapid succession of crunching footsteps behind them, and stood. Owen stormed toward Anakin, fists clenched. Obi-Wan raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, hoping to discourage the imminent fight. Owen spoke first.

"You want to know what happened to Cliegg?" Owen shouted.

"Yeah, I do!" Anakin cried.

"He was killed in the street," Owen said, "By a thug who thinks he's untouchable." _Sounds like someone else I know_, he almost added. Thankfully, he had the sense to keep those words to himself.

"You saw it?" Anakin asked.

Owen shook his head without breaking eye contact. "I showed up after it was over. The bastard was still there, with all his friends." Owen's lip quivered as he recounted one final detail. "He was smiling, Anakin," Owen said, his voice cracking. "He was real proud of himself."

"And no one stopped to help?" Obi-Wan gasped, a look of horror on his face.

Owen looked at him, and rapidly blinked tears out of his eyes. "The people in the street pretended they didn't see anything. None of them would talk. That's how it is out here, Jedi. It ain't like the Core Worlds. You want to stay alive, you've got to look out for number one." Owen's gaze flickered back toward Anakin. "Right?"

Anakin clenched his jaw. He wanted to throw a punch right then, but he could sense Owen was reaching out for help. He could also sense that, in a strange way, Owen was also testing him. He wanted to see if his brother would redeem himself by avenging their father. In that moment, Anakin knew what he was going to do.

"What's his name?" Anakin growled.

Owen's eyes narrowed. "He's a rotten, cheatin' podracer," he spat, "named Sebulba."


	7. Chapter 7

VII

Qui-Gon groaned uncomfortably as he regained consciousness. He could feel his pulse thudding in his temples, like something was trying to hammer its way out from beneath his scalp. He tried lifting his hands to rub the pain away, but they would not move from his sides. Qui-Gon's eyes snapped all the way open. He was upright, but tied to some kind of gurney. His limbs were tightly bound, and his belt and boots were gone. He felt cool air on his bare feet, and curled his toes reflexively. As he did, his tendons flexed against his restraints, reminding him just how tight they were. Qui-Gon looked ahead, and saw only a blank wall. _A cell_, he thought. He scanned up and down, and noticed the molding of the cell was decorated with the same motif he'd seen throughout the Royal Palace. _Still on Alderaan_. He started to form a checklist in his head, known versus unknown. He turned his head from side to side, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. He saw no doors or windows, and the only light came from a single fixture in the ceiling. He was wearing the same clothes as when he was captured, apart from his belt and boots. His topknot had also been undone, leaving his long hair unraveled. Qui-Gon kept his breathing slow, and turned his thoughts to the Force, trusting that its omnipresent energy would dull his splitting headache.

Qui-Gon's meditation was interrupted after only a few seconds, when he heard a hissing sound from behind him. It had to be the cell door. He heard footsteps coming around the gurney, and rolled his head to one side to track them. A Mandalorian stepped into view, turning on his heels to face Qui-Gon directly. He still wore his traditional cape and armor, but no helmet. Qui-Gon remembered the man's face—his blond hair, his icy blue eyes, his ruthless countenance. It was the last face he'd seen before being shot.

Pre Vizsla stood quietly for a moment, visually inspecting his prisoner's restraints before moving within arm's reach of the gurney. Satisfied that the Jedi was still tightly bound, he leaned in closer.

"We found something that belongs to you," Vizsla teased. He reached under his cape and withdrew a metal cylinder with black and chrome accents. The finish was scratched and chipped, but Qui-Gon recognized it as his own.

"My men found it while they were digging you out," Vizsla explained. "It wasn't far from your legs. Speaking of which...how are they feeling?"

Qui-Gon reflexively tensed his legs in response to his captor's question. There was a dull, throbbing pain, to be sure, but Qui-Gon clenched his jaw and fought past it.

"Hmm," Vizsla nodded. "That stone should have crushed you like an insect. With your Jedi strength, you could probably put your weight on them...make a run for it."

Vizsla paused, letting his words hang in the air for effect, then held Qui-Gon's lightsaber even closer.

"Show me how you use the Force, Jedi," Vizsla growled. "Go ahead. You could pull this right out of my hand and gut me with it, couldn't you?"

Qui-Gon's eyes went from his lightsaber to Vizsla's face. He knew what his captor was trying to do, but he refused to let anger get the best of him. He looked straight ahead, and made his face as blank as the wall in front of him.

"No?" Vizsla prodded, raising an eyebrow. He sarcastically clicked his tongue. "I know what you're thinking. I wouldn't bring a live weapon in here with me. I must have...deactivated it. Or maybe it was damaged by the blast." Vizsla pretended to inspect the hilt of the lightsaber. He idly picked at one of the fresh chips in the metal. Then, he held the lightsaber horizontally, and thumbed the ignition switch. The blade erupted from the hilt, passing right in front of Qui-Gon's nose and painting the wall with emerald-green light.

"Such a unique weapon," Vizsla mused. He flexed and rolled his wrist, carving a figure-8 in front of Qui-Gon's face. "It can cut through almost anything, and yet, it emits no heat..."

Vizsla drew the blade close to himself and cupped it with his hand, nearly touching it. He looked to Qui-Gon, that one eyebrow still raised expectantly. Still, Qui-Gon refused to give in to the temptation. He'd spent decades conditioning himself to resist the dark side of the Force. It would take more than a few words from a Mandalorian despot to make him walk that path.

"...until it actually touches something," Vizsla said, concluding his earlier thought. He stepped out of Qui-Gon's view, and picked something up off of a small table beside the gurney. When he stepped back to where Qui-Gon could see, he held a curved metal plate in one hand. The edges of the plate were smooth, except one, which was conspicuously burned. Vizsla lifted the plate, and angled it so Qui-Gon could see what it was. It was a piece of body armor, taken from the chest of the soldier he cut down during the invasion. Vizsla touched Qui-Gon's green blade to the armor, producing an ominous sizzling noise. The metal began to glow red-hot as Vizsla ran the blade up and down along its edge. Within seconds, droplets of hot liquid metal were raining down onto the floor. Vizsla stepped back, and set the hot piece of metal down on the table.

"I've never understood how these blades extend to a point, and then just...stop," he remarked. "Here, there is so much power," he traced the length of the blade with his finger. "And here, nothing but air," he said upon reaching the tip.

"I think it's a fitting symbol for your Order. You Jedi wield so much influence within the Republic. Every candidate, every Senator, even the Chancellor himself grovels at your temple. They give lip service to your traditions. They vow to protect and uphold your interests."

Vizsla glared at Qui-Gon with fury in his eyes. "Tell me it isn't career suicide if they don't."

Qui-Gon remained silent. Vizsla gave him a condescending smirk.

"I thought so. And yet, after all these generations..." he ran his hand up the blade again, as if to symbolize a timeline. When his finger reached the tip of the blade again, he continued. "It will all come crashing down. It will be sudden. It will be quick. It will catch you so-called 'masters' completely off-guard. And when it's over, the Jedi will be..." Vizsla deactivated the blade. "Extinct." He stared at Qui-Gon without blinking, making no effort to hide his contempt. "I think the end of your Order is coming very...very...soon."

Qui-Gon struggled to regulate his breathing. He could see the hatred in Vizsla's eyes. The Mandalorian hated him for who he was, for his upbringing, for the company he kept. He could feel Vizsla's contempt for his way of life. As Qui-Gon suppressed his instinctive urge to respond in kind, Vizsla smiled.

"There's one last thing I want to share with you, Master Jedi," Vizsla sneered. "I reached out to a friend of mine...the only man I've ever met who wants your Order wiped out even more than I do. I think the two of you have much to share with one another."

Even before Vizsla had finished speaking, Qui-Gon was filled with a horrible sensation of dread. It was as though a poisonous cloud was drifting down the hall of the dungeon behind him, and when it reached him, it would snuff the life out of him, just like that. The unseen cloud drew closer and closer, stopping just beyond the cell door. Qui-Gon felt an awful premonition through the Force, even worse than the warning he'd felt before the invasion. He felt adrenaline in his veins, pushing the pain of his headache away. His breathing quickened, and his heart began pounding in his chest. Here he was, bolted to a gurney, and something terrible, something lethal, was waiting just behind him. Qui-Gon's fear must have shown on his face, because Vizsla grinned widely, and stepped back to make way for the new arrival. A humanoid figure moved up in Vizsla's place, and Qui-Gon could barely contain himself. It wore black boots and gloves, and was draped in a black hooded robe. It was not as tall as Vizsla, and there were no weapons in its gloved hands, but its poisonous aura blanketed every corner of the cell.

"Allow me to introduce the master of another ancient Order," Vizsla said, extending his hand. "The Dark Lord of the Sith...Darth Maul."

Qui-Gon shook his head defiantly. "No," he whispered. "The Sith are extinct." But there was no denying the power of the figure standing before him. Maul lifted his chin, allowing the light from above to illuminate his face. It was the face of a madman. Every bit of exposed skin was tattooed with symmetrical branches of red and black ink. A crown of short, curved horns jutted out from his scalp. He had no hair on his head or face; even his eyebrows were gone. But none of those features frightened Qui-Gon as much as his eyes. Darth Maul had the piercing gaze of an apex predator. His contracted pupils, irises ablaze with yellow and orange, and bloodshot sclera suggested a berserker rage that could spill forth at any moment. Qui-Gon felt Maul's raw hatred for him, a dark energy that ran far deeper than Vizsla's. Vizsla might have wanted him dead, but Maul wanted him violated and eaten alive. Out of desperation, Qui-Gon twisted his forearms, but the binders on his wrists held firm. He wasn't going anywhere.

"I hope you're satisfied, Lord Maul," Vizsla said. Maul shifted his gaze away from Qui-Gon for the first time, but his intense, burning expression did not change. Vizsla held out Qui-Gon's dormant lightsaber, and Maul took it. Vizsla smiled at the helpless Jedi one last time, and left the room. Qui-Gon's jaw trembled as he heard the cell door slide shut, and Maul's furious stare descended upon him again.

"Where is your apprentice?" Maul asked with a raspy voice. His tone suggested Qui-Gon would suffer regardless of his answer.

"Where's yours?" Qui-Gon replied.

Maul stepped foward, his footsteps utterly silent. Qui-Gon ordered himself not to focus on Maul's demonic scowl, and look at the wall in front of him instead. He knew unbearable pain was imminent, and he reflected on his training to detach himself from the inevitable. It was no use. This was not Maul's first interrogation, and he knew what Qui-Gon was trying to do before he did it. The Sith Lord pointed at an unseen control pad on the side of the gurney. There was a mechanical whirring noise, and the gurney rotated backward, tilting Qui-Gon's head toward the floor and elevating his bare feet. It stopped once he was completely upside-down. His restraints still held him securely to the slab; there was not a millimeter of leeway. Qui-Gon sniffed quietly to himself. At least now he could see the door.

Slowly, deliberately, Maul picked up the singed armor plate from the table, and stepped around the gurney so Qui-Gon could see him. His movements were so smooth, so quiet, like a panther stalking its prey. Maul held up the armor plate so Qui-Gon could see red-hot edge. The Jedi felt cold sweat running up his chest, and resisted the urge to vomit.

"You share a bond with him," Maul said. "You can speak to him, no matter where he is. Tell him to bring the Royal Family back here."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No," he answered. He tried to inject strength into his voice, but he could tell it sounded weak.

Maul glared deep into Qui-Gon's eyes. "Picture his face," he growled, "and speak."

Maul pressed the glowing metal against the soles of Qui-Gon's feet. The Jedi could no longer hold back. He screamed and screamed, flexing uselessly against his restraints.

Light-years away, on Tatooine, Obi-Wan woke with a start. He sat upright and looked around, momentarily confused by his surroundings. There was a disturbance in the Force, like the lingering feeling of a nightmare he could not remember. He could sense only one detail clearly: that Qui-Gon was in excruciating pain. Obi-Wan looked worriedly from side to side, and his waking mind began to put things in order. The Lars family had given him a place to sleep for the night. He'd taken a long time to drift off, as he recounted the details of Anakin's argument with Owen. He wanted to prevent any further bloodshed, but with the revelation of Cliegg's murder, he doubted his ability to deter his young friend. He had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, rehearsing dozens of speeches in his head, but nothing sounded right. Somewhere along the line, his exhaustion had taken over, and everything he wanted to say had been lost to the void of sleep.

Now that Obi-Wan was fully awake, he could hear muffled voices from outside. He fumbled around in the darkness of his tiny room, until he found his way to the door. He opened it, and squinted his eyes at the harsh light that poured in from outside. Tatooine's suns were just peeking over the horizon, but it seemed as bright as noon on any other world. As Obi-Wan's eyes adjusted to the light, he made out two figures standing by Anakin's parked landspeeder. It was definitely Anakin and Owen, but they were no longer arguing. Now, they leaned toward one another, as if united by a common purpose. There was an open toolbox sitting on the hood of the landspeeder, and Owen was rummaging through it, looking for something to put in the empty holster on his right hip. Anakin's blaster pistol was already snapped into his own hip holster, and he held a long gun with two hands. It had an unusually wide muzzle, and Obi-Wan suspected it was not a blaster at all, but some sort of projectile weapon. Beru and Padmé stood near the domed structure opposite Obi-Wan, watching their companions with sorrow and concern on their faces.

Seeing that a violent course of action had already been decided upon, Obi-Wan walked over to the landspeeder slowly, keeping his body language as neutral as possible. As he got within arm's reach, Anakin and Owen looked up at him. Their stern expressions warned him not to challenge them, but he felt compelled to say something.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Owen lifted the pistol he was looking for out of the toolbox, and holstered it. He slammed the lid of the toolbox shut, latched it, and held it out to Obi-Wan.

"There's a moisture vaporator that needs to be dialed in," he replied. "Second one out, to the south."

Obi-Wan's heart sank as he reluctantly accepted the toolbox from Owen. He'd hoped the younger men would allow him to tag along, perhaps giving him the chance to say something as they rode into town. He didn't even mind sitting high above the windshield, as he had on the way out of Mos Eisley the day before. The last thing he wanted was to sit at the homestead, not knowing whether or not they would return.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said with a pleading tone.

"No," Anakin cut him off. He handed the long gun to Owen, who carefully laid it against the seat cushion of the landspeeder before stepping into the vehicle himself. Anakin paused before getting into the driver's seat, and looked back at the trio he was leaving behind. He consoled Beru with a faint, sympathetic smile, then nodded to Padmé.

"Keep the others updated," he said, motioning toward her commlink. "You don't have to tell them everything...just that we're OK, and we'll see them soon."

Finally, Anakin made eye contact with Obi-Wan. He could see the disapproval on Obi-Wan's face, but he also saw that there was an understanding between them that went beyond words.

"You are stronger than you know, Anakin," Obi-Wan cautioned. "Don't give in to hate. Trust the Force. It will show you another way."

Owen scoffed quietly from the landspeeder, but Anakin glared over his shoulder, silencing his adoptive brother. He turned back to Obi-Wan, and his expression softened for one brief moment.

"Thanks," Anakin said. He rubbed his thumb along the grip of his holstered pistol, and wondered what possible alternative there could be. Cliegg's death could not go unanswered, but vengeance was apparently not in the Jedi vocabulary. Anakin sighed, and plopped down behind the wheel of the landspeeder. He said nothing as he accelerated away from the homestead.

"Finally," Owen growled, squinting at the horizon. "I thought he'd never shut up."

"Where're we going?" Anakin grumbled. He hoped Owen would have the good sense to change the subject, and focus on the matter at hand.

"Mos Espa," Owen replied, pointing to the north.

Anakin frowned. "That'll take half the day, without stopping," he said.

"We'll be just fine," Owen reassured him. "Sebulba is a creature of habit. I know where he'll be."

Anakin nodded, and pushed the landspeeder to its top speed. His immediate surroundings became a blur, and his windshield crackled as it parted the gritty air. He felt Owen's worried gaze on him, and ignored it. He'd already escaped a prison cell, two starfighters, and an entire planetary blockade. Compared to that, the open desert was nothing. Besides, as his anger over Cliegg's fate grew, he felt like he could see farther than before. He knew there were no obstructions in their path. He knew the nearest Sand People were far away to the northwest, huddled around the Motesta Oasis. He also knew that when he met Sebulba face-to-face, he was going to get a confession before he pulled the trigger.

Anakin drove his adoptive brother past Carnthout and Bestine, then north between the Mospic High Range and the Xelric Draw. They wasted no time slowing down or stopping, and Anakin had to endure more than one joke from Owen about relieving himself over the side of the landspeeder. As he parked on the outskirts of Mos Espa, Anakin glanced at the chronometer, and was surprised to see they'd made it just before noon. He clambered out onto the ground and took two uneasy steps before pausing to stretch his legs. Owen did the same, shaking out his feet and slapping his clothes to remove the accumulated dirt. They surveyed the town without emotion. The mud-brick buildings meant nothing to them, nor did the hundreds of sentients milling about in the streets. They had only one target, and one objective. Anakin reached into the landspeeder, and lifted the long gun from the seat.

"Keep it slung," he warned, handing it to Owen. Owen looked at the gun as if seeing it for the first time, and Anakin could tell he was wondering whether he was capable of using it on Sebulba. Owen looked up and saw Anakin scrutinizing him. He stuck out his chin, and threw the long gun over his shoulder.

"This way," Owen said, hardening his demeanor as much as possible. Anakin watched him walk for a moment before following. He shook his head, fighting to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. _Maybe Obi-Wan should have come along after all_, he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

Owen's boots made soft crunching noises in the dirt as he walked the streets of Mos Espa. He looked around cautiously, as if the people around him might somehow discern his thoughts and apprehend him before he could reach his destination.

"Stop that," Anakin said, annoyed.

"What?" Owen asked defensively.

"You're going to stick out, doing that," he warned. "Just act normal."

Owen stopped and looked around. People were walking by him in every direction. Some carried bundles or bags; others rode atop beasts of burden, or led them along with harnesses. Most had at least one sidearm in open view. A variety of droids walked or rolled by, following the natural flow of traffic. None of them, even the ones that looked sinister at first glance, were attempting to sneak or conceal their movements. Owen realized he was letting his nerves get the best of him, and nodded to Anakin.

"All right," he sighed. "Over here."

He led his brother down a narrow alley, with barely enough room for them to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. They stepped over piles of trash and broken crates, turning every thirty or forty yards as the direction of the alley changed. Owen was relieved that they did not encounter anyone else in the alley. He planned to have only one violent meeting on this day. At last, they reached the end of their shaded path. They stopped near the corners of the adobe buildings, where the alley opened onto a wide boulevard. Owen leaned his back against the edge of one building, as Anakin stood against the other. From here, they could lean out to observe the street, and quickly duck back out of sight again.

"See the cafe?" Owen asked, pointing over his own shoulder. Anakin tilted his head to one side, and nodded. The cafe was open to the street, with several tables and chairs nestled beneath a shaded patio.

"Table in the corner," Owen said. "The Dug with his back to the wall."

Anakin's eyes narrowed. There was a male Dug sitting beneath a molded archway, facing the street, just as Owen described. He had grayish-purple skin with beige spots, and a single red stripe running vertically down the middle of his brow ridge. He had pointy ears, an elongated, camel-like snout, and a pair of angry-looking yellow eyes. He also had the small torso and long limbs typical of an arboreal animal. Anakin frowned. If there was a fight, it would be hard to match the strength of a species that spent its entire life swinging through the trees.

"I see him," Anakin said.

Owen waited for Anakin to say more, but he just kept watching, trying to read Sebulba's body language from afar. The Dug had his muscular arms under the table, and was holding his smaller legs up in front of him, using the opposable thumbs on his feet to hold his utensils. It was a strange sight, but the movements were so natural, it was clear Sebulba preferred to eat this way. As he scooped food into his mouth, a human waitress came by to refill his glass. As the young woman bent down, she inadvertently tilted her drink pitcher too far, spilling a few drops of amber liquid onto Sebulba's table. The Dug's reaction was immediate. He recoiled in his seat, pounded the table with his fist, and cursed at the waitress. Anakin's eyebrows jumped up.

"He's got a short fuse, doesn't he?" he asked rhetorically.

Owen scowled. He clearly didn't think the murderous Dug's temper should be described so lightly. "So what now?" Owen asked, hooking his thumb under the sling of his long gun.

Anakin eyed the weapon, then looked back down the street at the cafe. "We can't just shoot him," he said. Owen's eyes flickered angrily, but Anakin quickly clarified. "Too many people," he added. "We need to draw him over to us."

"How are we going to do that?" Owen grumbled. "Wave at him?"

Anakin shook his head dismissively, and scanned the rest of the street. His attention was drawn to a gorgmonger's booth next to the cafe, where an obese alien was selling frogs and other morsels from a metal hanger. Anakin watched the lifeless amphibians bob up and down as the metal hanger flexed in the wind, and his eyes traced a path back to Sebulba's table.

"I have an idea," he said.

Seconds later, Anakin walked across the street, squinting his eyes as the sunlight hit them. His pocket was heavy with coins; he'd bummed enough local currency off of Owen to buy half the gorgmonger's stock. He smirked to himself. It was the first money he'd got his hands on since he was searched incident to arrest on Alderaan. He stood a short distance from the counter until the alien vendor turned her back, then stepped forward through the crowd and selected a particularly rank gorg. He lifted it from the string tied around its tail, and held it up so it would obscure his face from the gorgmonger.

"How much for this one?" Anakin asked, speaking Huttese.

The gorgmonger turned around, her spider-like eyes focused on the merchandise rather than the face behind it. "Seven wupiupi," she replied, also speaking Huttese.

Anakin reached into his pocket with his free hand, counted out seven of the coins Owen gave him, and set them down on the counter. The gorgmonger slapped her clawed hand over the pile of coins, and greedily raked them in. Anakin held his purchase close to his chest—but not too close—and casually strolled toward the cafe. When he got close enough, he turned his right side away from Sebulba, and hurled the gorg at him with all the strength he could muster.

He did not wait to see the impact. Instead, he turned back toward the alley and started running. It was an all-out sprint by the time he heard the loud splash, the clanking of dishes, and Sebulba's cursing. The next sound Anakin heard was the rapid _thump-thump-thump_ of feet slapping the dirt behind him. Anakin's heart sank as the sound grew closer. He knew better than to turn and look, but it felt like Sebulba was right on top of him. _Damn, he's fast,_ Anakin thought. _I'm not going to make it back!_ But just then, his hand touched the corner of the building that concealed Owen. He flung himself around the corner and kept running down the alley. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Owen, with his back still pressed against the building. Sebulba hadn't seen him yet.

A heartbeat after Anakin made it back into the shade, the furious Dug came barreling around the corner on all fours. Owen stepped forward as Sebulba darted past him, and racked the long gun with an unmistakable clicking sound. Sebulba skidded to a stop, breathing with an angry rumble in the back of his throat. He turned to face Owen, and found himself looking down the barrel of the long gun. He leaned back on his arms, and raised his feet in a gesture of surrender. His eyes, however, said he was still out for blood.

Anakin moved up beside Sebulba, out of the path of Owen's shot. He put one hand against the wall of the building while he caught his breath. He wanted to start questioning the Dug right away, but he also knew he would get nowhere if he was gasping for air in the middle of a sentence. Sebulba saved him the trouble by speaking first.

"What do you want?" the Dug growled in Huttese. Owen pressed the stock of the long gun more tightly into his shoulder, and his face twisted into an expression of hatred. Anakin could sense that he wanted to pull the trigger, but was waiting for something. Whether that something was a word of encouragement or a word of protest, he did not know. Instead of trying to guess, he decided to go after the one thing he wanted from Sebulba above all else: a confession.

"We're here because of the man you killed," Anakin spoke up. He continued to use Huttese, knowing that Sebulba would do the same.

"Which one?" Sebulba snapped, his yellow eyes glaring.

Anakin took a deep breath. He hadn't expected this to be easy, but now his hatred for Sebulba was growing to match Owen's.

"He had one leg," Anakin said, carefully controlling his tone. "He used a chair to get around."

Sebulba looked back at Owen, and grudgingly nodded. "I remember," he said. "What about him?"

"Why did you kill him?" Anakin demanded, a cold undertone to his voice. Sebulba lowered his feet slightly, perhaps sensing that holding them up would not change his fate.

"He interrupted a private conversation," the Dug teased. "He said he didn't appreciate what I said about veterans. Then he said...I wouldn't even be a podracer if it wasn't for their sacrifice."

Anakin looked confused for a moment. "Then what?" he prodded.

"I knocked him out of his chair," Sebulba answered, raising one arm off the ground and balling his fist. Owen tightened his grip on the gun and leaned forward slightly. Sebulba quickly put his arm back underneath him. "I hit him a few times...to teach him to show respect. He didn't get up. He must have cracked his shell." Sebulba tapped his finger to the side of his head, casually painting a gruesome picture. Owen was unable to contain himself.

"You beat him to death, you scum!" he shouted. Anakin grimaced, and looked out at the street. People were milling around, but none seemed to have noticed the commotion. When he looked back, Owen was staring at him.

"Satisfied?" Owen cried out, his voice cracking. Anakin nodded, and Owen looked down at Sebulba once more. Anakin watched his brother's finger go inside the trigger guard. The finger tensed, took the slack out of the trigger...and stopped. Anakin's mouth fell open. Sebulba stared up at Owen, motionless as a statue. After what felt like an eternity, Owen's shoulders slumped. He collapsed against the wall, and held the gun out to Anakin, who quickly took it with one hand. Anakin kept the muzzle pointed down at the ground, and pointed his empty hand at Sebulba to emphasize his next words.

"You are going to leave Tatooine tonight," he ordered, "and never come back."

Sebulba bared his teeth. "I'm a podracer," he hissed. "Nobody is going to take that from me."

"There are circuits on your homeworld, and a hundred other systems," Anakin said flatly. "Pack your things, and take the next ship out of here. You can send for your precious pod."

Sebulba clenched his fists, but said nothing. Anakin made a small gesture with the long gun, like he was sweeping the dirt with a broom. The muzzle did not rise from the ground, but Sebulba understood the gesture. The Dug walked sideways, like a crab, toward the sunlit boulevard. Anakin turned his attention to Owen, who by this time had tears running down his cheeks.

"Just remember," Anakin said over his shoulder, "We found you once. We can find you ag—"

A massive impact to Anakin's back cut him off and sent him sprawling. The long gun spiraled out of his hand, landing in the dirt beyond his reach. He fell face-first, and the unforgiving ground sapped his strength even further. He coughed and rolled over. Owen was on the ground, on his back, with Sebulba on top of him. Sebulba was pummeling Owen with his sinewy arms, striking him so hard his head was bouncing off the ground.

"You want to kill me, farmboy?" Sebulba taunted, between punches. "You want to be a gangster? Hmm? I'll show you a gangster!"

In that moment, Anakin had a vision of Cliegg in the same helpless position as Owen, with Sebulba using his primate-like strength and agility to beat the life out of him. Anakin felt something powerful boiling up inside, like a surge of adrenaline, and reached for the blaster pistol on his right hip. He felt sluggish, like his limbs were responding too slowly to his commands. _Come on,_ he urged himself. _He killed Cliegg! He's killing Owen! Shoot him! NOW!_ His hatred grew—not just for Sebulba, but for himself, for not performing quickly enough—and with that hatred came a surreal level of focus. Everything that was not an object of his hate disappeared. He saw himself, and Sebulba, and nothing else, just blackness all around. _Shoot him,_ he thought calmly. He extended his hand, and was almost surprised to see it was gripping his blaster. He hadn't even felt the draw from the holster. He squeezed the trigger, knowing on a subconscious level that he was on target. There was a flash of red light, and Sebulba crumpled to the ground.

Anakin stood, and holstered his blaster. It had done its job. Without looking, he knew his shot had left a smoldering hole through Sebulba's heart. He bent down to help Owen to his feet, and was relieved to see his brother was still conscious. The feeling of hatred, and the strange sense of clarity that accompanied it, was fading away. In its place came a deep concern for Owen's well-being, and a sudden urge to get back to the landspeeder before any curious bystanders approached the mouth of the alley.

"Come on," Anakin said, helping Owen up. When they were face-to-face, Anakin saw the extent of Owen's injuries and winced sympathetically. Owen's nose was gushing blood, and looked broken. His lips were split, and there was more blood staining his teeth and tongue. One of his eyes was starting to swell shut, and an egg-sized lump was forming on his head, near his hairline.

Anakin shook his head in disbelief. "We've got to get you home," he declared. He picked up the long gun, and slung it over his own shoulder. As he started to walk with Owen, guiding him back down the alley, Owen resisted. Anakin looked at him, and saw him glaring at Sebulba's corpse with his good eye.

"Got him," Owen sobbed, patting Anakin on the shoulder. "We got him, dad."

Anakin felt tears in his eyes, and blinked rapidly to clear them away. To distract himself, he focused on the long walk ahead, and tried not to worry about what he would say to the others once they returned to the homestead. It was slow going, since Owen was dazed and possibly concussed. Anakin took the time to steer him around every obstacle, so he would not trip. He was so preoccupied with this task, he did not see the bearded, grungy-looking man kneeling over Sebulba as they rounded the corner.

When they emerged on the other side of the alley, Anakin was surprised to see that most of the pedestrian traffic continued to walk by without stopping or asking any questions. They seemed oblivious to Owen's fresh injuries—or perhaps they saw, and didn't care. _Either way suits me fine,_ Anakin thought. When they reached his landspeeder, he breathed a sigh of relief. The further they went, the more weight Owen had been putting on him, and with the adrenaline wearing off, it was all the more difficult. He helped Owen clamber over the side of the landspeeder, then made his way around the front and collapsed into his own seat.

"Still with me?" Anakin asked. Owen nodded, but his mouth hung open lazily, and the back of his head did not leave the seat cushion. Anakin frowned as he activated the engines. It would be late afternoon by the time they reached the homestead, and he had no idea what he would do if Owen needed urgent medical care before then. He looked out at the horizon, and visualized all the ground he had to cover. _Only one way to help him,_ he thought. _Get there fast._ He opened up the throttle, and raced for home. The bearded man from the alley stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the landspeeder grow smaller and smaller, and lifted a commlink to his lips.

Anakin zipped across the desert as fast as his landspeeder would allow. His normal aversion to abusing the vehicle was gone, far outweighed by his concern for Owen. He felt giddy when he spotted the first moisture vaporator on the perimeter of the homestead, and when he looked over to check on Owen, he saw a faint smile on Owen's face as well. For both of them, it felt good to be back. Anakin pulled up to the small dome much earlier than he expected, having shaved almost half an hour off his return trip, and promptly shut off the engines. Beru, Padmé, and Obi-Wan had heard the landspeeder's approach, and were standing anxiously by the doorway. Anakin leapt over the side of his landspeeder, and came around to help Owen out. As he lifted Owen by the arm, the others got their first clear look at his face. Beru gasped and rushed forward, taking Owen's other arm.

"I'm fine," he mumbled weakly. Beru looked behind Owen's back at Anakin, her expression a mixture of worry and disapproval.

"I can explain," Anakin said. "Take him inside. I'll be right there."

As soon as the door slid shut behind Owen and Beru, Anakin turned to his other two companions.

"I tried another way," he said to Obi-Wan, "but it fell apart."

Obi-Wan bit his lip and nodded. "I'm glad you're all right, Anakin," he said. From his tone, it was clear he did not condone the younger man's actions. Something else seemed to be bothering him, too—some unseen pain—but Anakin felt it best to ask him about that another time.

"How are the others?" he asked Padmé.

"They were a little tense after you left," she replied. "I was waiting for you to come back before I contacted them again."

Anakin smirked, and gestured toward her commlink. "Tell them we're on our way back to Mos Eisley," he said, "and we're leaving for Coruscant as soon as we get there."

Padmé and Obi-Wan both looked relieved. Anakin stepped toward the door. "Just give me a minute," he said.

"Saying goodbye?" Obi-Wan asked.

"For now," Anakin answered. "I'll be quick."

Before he could toggle the door controls, however, Padmé called out to him. "Anakin!" she shouted. He turned, hearing the consternation in her voice. "You were followed."

Anakin gazed out at the horizon, and a lump rose in his throat. A large, fully enclosed skiff was approaching the homestead, flanked by two swoop bikes. All three vehicles were traveling at high speeds, leaving clouds of dust in their wake.

"Go inside," Anakin warned, taking a protective stance in front of his friends.

"Who are they?" Padmé asked.

"I don't know," he said, keeping his eyes on the looming threat. "Just go."

"They've already seen us," Obi-Wan pointed out, "and you can't face them alone."

Anakin frowned. "Just stay behind me," he muttered. "I have a feeling I'm the one they want."

The skiff slowed as it approached Anakin's parked landspeeder, and turned so its starboard side faced the group. The skiff was about ten meters from bow to stern, and was black and purple in color. It had rectangular windows running along both sides, but their dark tint made it impossible to see through them. The skiff had a trapezoidal profile, but its rounded corners and luxurious accents gave it the look of an armored limousine. When it came to a stop, hovering silently just beyond the landspeeder, the swoop riders took up new positions. They arranged themselves with one bike in front of the skiff, and the other behind. The riders angled their bikes inward, giving themselves overlapping fields of fire, and dismounted. They were humanoid, but wore helmets that prevented Anakin from confirming their species. They also carried blaster rifles, which they thankfully kept pointed at the ground. As Anakin studied these new arrivals, there was a faint hissing noise from the skiff, and a passenger door near the stern opened outward. A frizzy-haired man with a beard—the same one from the alley, although Anakin had not seen him at the time—exited the skiff, and pointed right at him. Anakin's breath caught in his throat. The man pointing at him motioned for him to come forward. Anakin took one last look at his friends, and seeing no other way to protect them, started walking toward the skiff.

"Leave the blaster," the man called out. Anakin stopped in his tracks, and slowly removed his pistol from its holster. He handed it to Obi-Wan, who took it by the barrel, clearly not enthused. Anakin continued on, feeling the swoop riders' eyes on him the whole way. When he reached the door, the strange man patted him down for any other weapons, then gestured for him to enter. Anakin did his best to conceal his apprehension, and stepped aboard the skiff.

The first thing Anakin felt was cold air on his skin, like he'd just walked into a freezer. The next thing he noticed was how dark the interior of the cabin was compared to the outside. There were dim overhead lights, but much of the cabin was still out of focus to him. Anakin shut his eyes, allowing them to adjust from the harsh desert sunlight. He wanted to see what awaited him, but while his eyes were closed, he had to concentrate on his other senses. There was the sound of the door hissing shut behind him, the gentle brush of air as the doorman walked around him to the far end of the cabin, the pounding of his own heart...but nothing else happened. When he couldn't stand the anticipation any longer, he spoke.

"Whatever you're going to do, spare them," he said to whoever had summoned him. "It was all me."

"Come sit down," a male voice commanded. Anakin opened his eyes, and took in more details of his surroundings. The interior of the skiff was extremely luxurious, with molded leather seats, shelves of colorful liquor bottles suspended over a brushed metal bar, and a dazzling array of control panels and viewscreens. Throughout the cabin, there were biometric safes mounted to the support pillars, perfectly sized to hold blasters. Anakin took all of this in, then his eyes shifted toward the bow, where two humanoid figures sat facing him. One was the doorman, who wore shabby dark clothing and appeared to have never picked up a comb in his life. The other was dressed in rich black and purple robes, with a tall, matching cap on his head. His skin was light blue, with orange-yellow markings on his cheeks and forehead, and he had a neatly trimmed gray beard. He stared at Anakin with cold, black eyes, calculating, sizing him up. Anakin had never met this man before, but his unique appearance gave away his identity. He was one of the highest-ranking lords of Tatooine's criminal underworld. Anakin slowly walked over and took the chair facing him.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," Anakin replied meekly. "You're Baron Papanoida."

The blue-skinned man nodded. "And do you know what I do?"

Anakin chose his next words carefully. "You...own a few local businesses," he said.

Papanoida gave him a predatory smile. "I control a lot more than that," he commented. "But that's smart. I like it. And _you_ are Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin nodded. It was hardly surprising that Papanoida knew who he was. Hondo used to boast of sharing drinks with the baron on more than one occasion.

"Well, Anakin," Papanoida continued, "it seems we've both heard stories about one another. Hondo spoke very highly of you. He once told me you could pilot anything with a seat and an engine."

Anakin found himself wondering why Papanoida would mention that specific skill, and tried to ignore the bad feeling in his gut. After a short pause, Papanoida went on. "And he's obviously told you a thing or two about me. Do you know why I've come to see you today?"

Anakin shook his head. He could have guessed, but he sensed Papanoida was about to tell him anyway.

"I have a little problem, Anakin," Papanoida explained. "And this problem also happens to be _your_ problem."

Anakin gritted his teeth. _Here it comes, _he thought.

"Tomorrow is the Boonta Eve Classic. The biggest podrace in the galaxy, as I'm sure you know. I sponsored a racer, Anakin, and I convinced some very powerful friends of mine to do the same. Can you guess who it was?"

"Sebulba," Anakin sighed.

Papanoida nodded, a grave expression on his face now. "Sebulba was an ornery little womp rat, but he was a winner. I put a lot of money on him. And I don't like to lose money...especially in this amount. So I need someone to take his place."

Anakin's jaw dropped. "Who, me?" he asked, leaning back as far as his seat would allow. Papanoida and his lackey both stared intently at him, and he took a moment to compose himself before continuing. "With respect, Baron, I can pilot a ship, but I've never raced a pod before. And people will notice I don't exactly look like Sebulba."

Papanoida held up his hand, and Anakin fell silent. "I have an enclosed pod for you," he said. He reached toward the tinted window glass and rapped on it with his knuckles. "The audience won't see you. All you have to do is perform like Sebulba did. That means you take first place...by any means necessary."

Anakin rubbed his temples with his palms. _First place in the Boonta Eve Classic? Impossible!_ He wanted to scream, but knew that would not be well-received.

"Sebulba made a few modifications to his pod that should help you along," Papanoida said, "and I'll even give you a map of the course." At this, he reached into a compartment next to his seat, and withdrew a small, circular holoprojector. He tossed it to Anakin, who caught it without looking.

"You win, my friends and I make a lot of money, and we put this ugly mess behind us," he promised. "No hard feelings."

"I can't exactly say no, can I?" Anakin knew there was no argument that would get him out of this, but he wanted to try.

"If I wanted you to say no, you would say no," Papanoida answered, leaving Anakin to draw his own conclusion. "You do as I say, and tomorrow night, someone will find Sebulba had one too many deathsticks to celebrate his big win. You refuse? Then it becomes a question of how many things I have to change before you see it my way."

Papanoida stared out the window at the homestead. Anakin perceived the threat immediately, and leaned forward with his hand outstretched.

"Please," he said. "I'll do it."

"Like I said...smart," Papanoida said, smiling again. He nodded to his subordinate, who jumped out of his seat and walked past Anakin to the door. Anakin rose to his feet, and Papanoida raised his index finger.

"One more thing," he said. "I can't have word get out that Sebulba is dead until after the race. There's only one other person who saw what happened in that alley." Papanoida pointed at the homestead. "I don't have to worry about him, do I?"

"No, sir!" Anakin quickly replied. Papanoida nodded, satisfied.

"I'll have my people at the spaceport watch your ship," he said, "just to make sure no one...steals it overnight. I expect you at my casino in Mos Espa at dawn. Back entrance. Alone."

Anakin nodded receptively. He saw Papanoida's eyes flicker toward the door, and took that as his cue to leave. He couldn't get off the skiff fast enough. He welcomed the hot air on his skin once more, and the blinding light of Tatooine's twin suns. They reminded him he was still alive, even after passing through so much danger. He did not turn to watch as the skiff and the swoop bikes accelerated away from the homestead. The diminishing sound of their engines was enough to calm his nerves.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan called out as he approached the small dome. "Who was that? What happened?"

Anakin addressed Padmé first. "Call the _Phantom II_," he said, rubbing his thumb across the holoprojector he'd been given. "There's been a change of plans."


End file.
